OffGrid
by Kes Cross
Summary: The murder of a bodyguard forces Colby and Ian into a manhunt against powerful and dangerous adversaries intent on revenge. Loyalties are tested and lives are put at risk...Sequal to The Past is a Distant Land - reviews very much appreciated.
1. Close Personal Protection

Disclaimer

I, the undersigned (and underpaid) do hereby solemnly (okay, not very solemnly but I mean it, really I do…) swear (a lot, especially when the computer crashes) that the evidence I shall give…hang on…sorry, my bad, wrong card…right where had I got to? Oh yeah, I solemnly swear that I own nothing, nada and absolutely bugger all to do with Numb3rs or any of the regular characters. Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong and the story, however, are mine and shall remain so until you prize them from my cold, dead fingers.

So there…

EDIT: At the risk of the administrators kicking me up the arse, I've taken the advice of a reviewer and downgraded the rating on this story. However, this story does contain profanities (that's swearing to you lot) and some scenes of fairly graphic violence. If this kind of thing is likely to offend you, go read some Harry Potter. If not, well, don't blame me if you start cussing like a sailor, okay?

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20,000,000 records

1 singer

8 security guards

1 bullet…

The camera flashes exploded like multiple lightning strikes, heralding the arrival of the black limo at the door of LA's most exclusive new club. Taking the blinding flashes as their cue the crowd surged forward, anxious even in the celebrity-peppered heart of La La Land to catch a glimpse of the diminutive but instantly recognisable popstar of the decade to emerge from the black cocoon of the car. The predatory form of the limo rolled to a stop and the doors opened, bodyguards stepping out smoothly and silently, expertly scanning the location for any potential threat to their precious cargo. The club doorstaff nodded to the suited guards and prepared to usher the party into the sanctuary of the club. One bodyguard opened the rear passenger door, blocking any possible shot from the front of the vehicle with his own, heavily muscled body. The white, curly wire that wound from his ear identified him as part of the CCP team for Destiny Bowyer – icon, superstar and teenage prodigy of agent to the stars, Nathan Peterson.

The first figure to emerge from the car was a woman – tall, muscular and the ubiquitous white wire in her ear an identifying marker of her profession. Long red hair ran down her back in a tight plait like a second spine. Expert eyes, vivid green and hinting at a violent and dangerous persona underneath the cool professional exterior, scanned the crowd. She glanced at the bodyguard who gave her the slightest nod. She responded without moving a muscle, her eyes expressing a wordless communication between the two CPP experts. She motioned with a flick of her finger into the car – the "all clear" signal.

As Destiny Bowyer finally emerged, the sight of her perfect smile and carefully tousled golden blonde hair sent the crowd into a screaming, baying frenzy. Two of the bodyguards climbed from the interior of the SUV that had pulled up behind the limo and positioned themselves either side of the starlet's car. Two more moved quietly around to the opposite side, forming a block around the petite blonde woman and her sphinx-like protectors. The last two members of the eight-man team were drivers, trained in all forms of "escape and evade" tactical driving techniques. It was their job to get Destiny and her security detail away from any hostile situation at a split second's notice.

The entire team waited on the command of the tall, red haired woman. They all knew their jobs – she had hand-picked them when she had been given the unenviable job as head of security two month's earlier. Destiny Bowyer had a reputation for hiring and firing, inspired by her Svengali-type manager. On his whispered instructions she had fired her entire team and employed Alex Carter and her band of ex-soldiers as a crack CPP team that would protect her from the outside world. All of the team knew and respected Alex and would follow any order she gave without a moment's hesitation. Her awesome and terrifying reputation preceded her…

Destiny Bowyer was blissfully unaware of the complex, military style operation that was in play. She turned her perfect smile onto full volume, basking in the glow of the flashbulbs that captured every ounce of her star quality in photographs that would be wired to every entertainment website, magazine and fansite within the hour. The flashbulbs exploded in renewed frenzy, the strobe effect giving the scene a strange, disjointed effect. The pounding bass-note of the music emanating from the club's sound system seemed in sync with the flashes as the bodyguards prepared to usher the star into the safety of the neon-bright interior.

Alex glanced around to her colleagues and nodded. She bent forward and murmured into Destiny's alabaster-pale ear. "We need to move, Miss Bowyer." Her soft London accent carried a note of authority that was entirely lost on the blonde girl. Destiny turned to her personal bodyguard, the brilliant smile locked into position, a mask for the fans and the photographers. She hissed a response through gritted teeth.

"My fans wanna see me, Alex, okay? I ain't gonna let them down, capiche?" Still she smiled, but her eyes flickered into a barely noticeable glower for a second. "You may be a good bodyguard, honey, with all your ex-special forces shit friends, but your pr skills suck out loud. You do the guarding. I'll do the smiling, okay? We go in when _I'm _fucking ready to, got that, soldier-girl?" Throughout the hissed, vitriolic rebuttal, her Hollywood smile never faltered.

Alex Carter's expression remained impassive but her heavily muscled companion had overheard every word of the artfully delivered telling off and knew that his oppo was bristling inwardly. He knew that being every inch the professional, Alex would take the rebuttal without giving into the temptation to snap the blonde's scrawny neck with one hand. But he also knew that Alex would be vividly imagining Destiny Bowyer's grinning face superimposed on the heavy punchbag that would be getting the mother of all poundings later on. He dropped his gaze, not wanting either Destiny or Alex to see the wry smile on his lips.

Alex flickered a cold, humourless smile at her ward. "Your call, Miss Bowyer." Her companion noticed the balled fist at her side. 'Hold it together, c'mon girl, hold it together…' he willed her to resist the temptation to launch a snap punch at the starlet's head. Gary Parks knew how explosive Alex's temper could be and he shifted his position by a couple of steps, also picking up on Alex's unease at the vulnerable position the star was in. His bulky body, crammed into a suit that strained across his massive shoulders, loomed behind the petit frame of Destiny. He caught Alex's eye and gave her a wink, reassuring her that he had the starlet's back covered. Alex gave her companion a fleeting, genuine smile. Destiny was completely unaware of the subtle shift in position of her other personal bodyguard, but was determined to continue lambasting Alex. "Damn right it's my call, you stuck up English bitch! And just remember who pays your wages, you…"

A sharp crack interrupted Destiny in mid-sentence. A woman in the crowd let out a piercing scream and in an instant all hell broke loose. Alex immediately pulled open the door of the limo and instantly forgetting the humiliating diatribe Destiny had unleashed upon her, threw her physically and without ceremony into the back of the car. At the same instant the two bodyguards who had been on the other side of the limo wrenched the passenger door open and dived into the vehicle. Destiny was pushed down onto the floor, the bodyguards ignoring her squeals of fright. One bodyguard covered her exposed back with his own body and wrapped two protective arms around her head, smothering any further screams and protecting her completely from any stray bullets.

Alex slammed the door closed, crouching low throughout. Her A1 sidearm was already in her other hand, the safety catch off. "GO GO GO!" She shouted the command and the limo wheelspinned away from the club, its sluing path followed by the black SUV only inches from its fender.

Once Destiny Bowyer had been safely removed from the situation, Alex spun around. Photographers and fans were scattering, keeping low to avoid any further gunfire. The club doormen had bolted into the safety of the club's entrance and two of her companions had dragged a prone figure away from the exposed entrance and to the cover of a low wall. Alex bolted to the wall and stopped dead. Around her the pandemonium, screams and chaos of the fleeing crowd melted into a silent, slow-motion crawl, fading into the background. Her eyes locked onto Gary.

"Oh Jesus, no…"

She dropped down onto her knees beside her friend, the two other bodyguards backing off slightly, allowing her room to work. The bloodstain was spreading like a creeping cancer across his white shirt. She ripped open the cotton shirt sending button-bullets spraying into the crowd like laundryday shrapnel. The exit wound in the centre of Gary's chest exposed tissue and filaments of muscle hanging like tattered rags from the black-red crater. Alex tore off her jacket and pressed it in a desperate and futile attempt to stem the bleeding from the gaping wound. With her other hand she cradled Gary's limp neck gently but firmly. His eyes glazed and his breathing was ragged and heavily laboured. Alex glared angrily at her friend. "Gary? Gary, you _stay with me,_ you hear me? You _hear me Gary?" _Gary's eyes flickered and started to droop closed. Alex's grip tightened on his neck and she shook his head in desperation. "Oh no you don't, son! Gary! Open your eyes, c'mon, look at me, Gary…Gary, open your _goddamn _eyes! GARY! OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES, SOLDIER! That's AN ORDER!" His eyes flickered open again, the agony of the devastating wound written clear on his face. "You stay with me, okay? You keep looking at me and you keep breathing! It doesn't end like this, Gary. You understand me?" Alex's voice cracked with emotion and she fought back the stinging tears that threatened to tumble down her cheeks. "You stay with me, sweetheart, okay? I'll take care of you…"

She knew it was useless.

Slowly – agonisingly slowly - Alex watched as the life-light faded slowly from Gary's soft, hazel eyes. His breath rattled in his chest for the last time. "Gary…" Alex whispered his name as he faded from her. She felt the weight of his head drop back onto lifeless neck muscles that could no longer support him. Slowly and gently she lowered his head onto the floor and placed her hand over his eyes, closing them for the last time. She sat back on her heels, still staring at the body of her friend, unaware of the blood that stained her pristine suit and white blouse. She looked at her colleagues with a piercing, green-eyed stare that chilled their souls.

"Whoever did this, I want them found."

The two men nodded. "Yes ma'am…"

She looked down again at her dead partner and without lifting her gaze from his lifeless form, spoke again. "Call the lads in. Micky, wipe out all traces of our ID's. We do this off-grid." She looked up. "For the regiment."

Micky Cox and Phil Mountbatten knew exactly what that meant…

Within seconds, the last three members of Destiny Bowyer's CPP security detail had vanished into the LA night and off the grid…

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Colby Granger leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long, long week. The caseload for the Violent Crimes Unit had doubled in the last few months. He wondered if it was just a case of renewed paranoia on the part of the general public, who had a habit of calling in every suspicious looking package, person or situation that their media-fuelled minds saw as a potential threat. The last call he had fended off had been a bizarre call from a woman who suspected her neighbour's dog of being a suicide bomber. When he asked her why she thought this, her answer had stopped even the good-natured Colby in his tracks. "Because he's wearing one of those doggy jackets!" she had exclaimed. "In this weather? Gotta be at least eighty five degrees out there. What kinda person puts a doggy jacket on their dog in eighty five degrees?"

"I…um…I really don't know, ma'am." Colby had struggled to keep himself from bursting out into a full-on belly laugh. David had raised an eyebrow at his partner, a broad smile splitting his face. Colby had the call on speaker.

"Exactly!" the woman had yelped. "So? Waddya gonna do 'bout it, young man?"

Colby had been sorely tempted to suggest to the woman that she contact the dog pound, but took a deep breath and replied civilly. "I can assure you ma'am, we have no dogs on our most wanted list. But I'll speak to someone in LAPD and we'll get it checked out for you, okay?" Before the woman had been able to respond, he killed the call and turned to his partner. "So. You wanna call the K-9 unit or shall I? I'm sure they've got a couple of German Shepherds they can send in under-cover. Ya know. Sniff things out."

"Dude! That's just…_nasty_!" David laughed.

"Oh, c'_mon_, man! That's the tenth crank-call I've had this week! Seriously, is it a full moon or something?"

"There's evidence to suggest that the lunar cycle actually does influence human behaviour, although whether it results in an increase in crank calls to the FBI, I'm not too sure…ya know, that could be an interesting statistical study." Charlie Eppes grinned at the two agents and swung his laptop satchel from his shoulder, dumping it unceremoniously but carefully onto Colby's desk.

"Hey Charlie." Colby grinned at the man. "If you want, I got a pile of reports you can use as data…"

"Actually? Ya know, I think I'll pass. I just dropped by to give Don the results of the threat algorithms he asked me to do for the potential release of prisoners from Guantanamo. Now that our new president is shutting the place down, I guess you guys are on high alert, right?"

"Surprisingly, no." David shook his head. "We got more important things to worry about."

"Like?"

"How does canine suicide bombers grab you?" Colby still couldn't stop himself from grinning as he said it.

"Well, our navy did use dolphins…"

"Urban myth, my friend. Didn't work. The bastards kept defecting for a bucket of pilchards." Colby shrugged. "I had a buddy who was a Navy Seal. And don't you dare make any cracks about seals and dolphins, Sinclair!"

David held his hands up in mock surrender. "Wouldn't dream of it. He'd probably drown me in my own shower if I did…"

Charlie felt at ease in the company of the two men. He perched on the corner of a table and laughed quietly. "So, is Don around?"

Colby pointed towards the ceiling. "Deputy Director's office. Got called up there about an hour ago for some reason. Prob'ly best not to interrupt him, bud."

Charlie sighed, opened the satchel and pulled out a buff file. "Okay, could you give him this? I gotta get back to CalSi in…" He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened. "Crap! Twenty minutes ago!" Leaping off the desk, he grabbed the satchel and sprinted from the office. Colby watched him run out of the door with a wry smile.

"Remind me to buy the white rabbit there a pocket watch, will ya?"

"He'd only give you some mathematical reason as to why time is relative or something," quipped David. Colby nodded and laughed.

The shrill tone of his deskphone caught Colby by surprise and he picked up the receiver. Glancing at the display, he saw it was an internal call. "Granger."

"_Colby? It's Don. Can you come up to Deputy Director White's office please? Now?"_

"On my way." Colby replaced the handset and stared thoughtfully at the phone.

"You okay buddy?"

"I dunno. Don's called me up to White's office." He looked at his partner, a worried frown on his face. "That's never good…" He stood up and subconsciously smoothed his casual shirt down with his hands. "Wish I'd worn my suit into work today." David looked at his partner. Casual shirt, tee-shirt and faded jeans. Colby always took any opportunity to take a 'dress-down Friday' memo seriously…

"Want me to get my hankie out and spit-wipe that smudge off your cheek?" David grinned mischievously at his friend.

Granger frowned, his green eyes boring into his friend and a finger stabbing the air in front of him. "You do and I'll kill you where you stand." Colby returned the grin, but David could see the concern behind his eyes…

_**TBC…..**_


	2. You've Got Mail

Disclaimer

I. Numb3rs. Don't. Anything. Own. To. Do. With. Story. Mine. And. Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong. Are.

G'on. Put those into a sentence and TA-DA! You got yourself a disclaimer…

What?

You want me to do it _for _you?

Good grief…

I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. Story and Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong are mine.

Now was that really so hard?

WARNING: This story does contain strong language, strong liquor and some scenes of violence. If you're offended by this, skip the good bits and just read the bits with the fluffy bunnies in them...

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Colby Granger leaned against the frame of the lift doors watching the LED display count off the floors with a knot of dread in the pit of his stomach. Despite years with the FBI and a decorated military career before that, he still felt like a schoolboy who had been caught out whenever he received a summons like this. Don's voice had made it very clear that his presence was not an option at the meeting, and that gave him cause for concern.

He'd made mistakes. He knew that. But he also knew that he'd made some bloody good calls over the years, so why did he always feel that he had to constantly prove his loyalty and commitment to the team? He trusted Don and David in particular – that trust was absolute on his part. He just wished that he could feel that they trusted him to the same degree. Ah, hell, perhaps Don had been right. Perhaps he had to start forgiving _himself _a little bit more. But then…he'd just been called into the Deputy Director's office. Had he screwed up again? He frowned deeply and racked his brains to try and think what had justified the summons. The affair with Diane Armstrong had afforded him a gentle reprimand but also another commendation. Perhaps there was something else…

The lift juddered to a halt and the doors slipped open. Colby took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the frame and stepped out into the carpeted hallway. He walked purposefully towards the Deputy Director's office, his confident stride disguising the nervousness he felt with each step. Louise, the Deputy Director's efficient and dedicated PA, nodded to him as he approached her desk. She gave him a brief smile. "Agent Granger? You're to go straight in." She motioned to the closed door. Colby mumbled a nervous "thank you" and knocked on the door.

"Come."

Colby pushed open the door and hovered in the entrance, unsure whether to step into the office and still hoping forlornly that the summons was a mistake on somebody's part. "You, um, wanted to see me sir?" He glanced quickly around the room. Don Eppes and Ian Edgerton were already seated opposite the director's desk. Deputy Director White looked up and smiled.

"Well, don't just stand there, Agent Granger. Come in. Sit down." Colby looked embarrassed at his own awkwardness, especially in front of his boss and Ian – a man who he practically hero-worshipped. He closed the door and moved over to an empty chair, perching nervously on the edge of the seat. Don covered his mouth to hide an amused smile. The big man looked absolutely mortified. Ian glanced over and gave Colby a wink of reassurance. The confirmation from Ian told Colby that no, he wasn't in trouble and Colby almost let an audible sigh of relief escape his lips but managed to catch it just in time. His posture relaxed and he shuffled into a more comfortable position on the chair.

"Right gentlemen, now that we're all here…" White pressed a button on his laptop and the screen behind his desk lit up. "If you haven't seen this already, I suggest you watch closely." The news report showed in vivid detail the attack that had killed Gary Parks and sent Destiny Bowyer's media credibility into orbit. Colby, Ian and Don watched the scene unfold. White froze the image and turned back to the agents. Colby's eyes didn't leave the screen. "I take it you all recognise the female bodyguard?" Colby close his eyes, silently praying that when he opened them again the face of the female bodyguard would have changed into someone else. It didn't.

"Diane."

"Diane Louise Armstrong. Captain. Well…former captain." White studied Colby closely.

"Former?"

"The only information the British would give us is that she retired from the army six months ago. No other details were forthcoming."

"Well, you know the Brits. They spell classified with a _capital_ c." Colby immediately winced at his quip, but White merely smiled.

"Yeah. So much for the special relationship, huh? Apparently, she has made her way back to the US. Did you know about this, Colby?"

"No sir, I did not."

"Would you have told us if you did?"

It was Don's turn to wince. The brutally direct question hit hard; he could clearly see the reaction in Colby that the younger man desperately tried to cover. But in the last few months Don had learned how to read Colby much more and that…_accusation_…had stung the man. It had taken a long time to build up Colby's fragile confidence after the Aranamov affair. A simple question like that could so easily knock it back…

But Colby was a lot tougher than Don sometimes gave him credit for. His shoulders stiffened and he sat ramrod straight in the chair, looking the director straight in the eye. "Yes sir, I would." The four words were said with absolute certainty.

White paused and then smiled again, nodding. "You know, I believe you would. Despite your, shall we say, somewhat chequered past with Captain Armstrong."

"_Former _Captain," Colby corrected.

'Adda boy!' thought Don, again trying to hide the wry amusement on his face as a junior agent stood his ground against the Deputy Director. Ian didn't even bother to hide the sardonic smile on his face. He liked Colby. The lad had potential…

White leaned back in his chair. "One shot was fired, point 338 calibre rifle. The bodyguard who took the bullet was pronounced dead at the scene."

"What was his name?"

"Gary Parks."

"Shit…" Colby shook his head.

"You know him?"

"I…" Colby stopped himself and glanced around the room. Rolling his eyes heavenwards, he sighed. "Well, I guess everyone in here's probably got the appropriate clearance so…I worked with Gary on a couple of operations in Afghanistan. He was a good buddy of mine. Damn good at blowing shit up."

White raised an eyebrow. "Well, with your particular talents in demolition and explosives, I imagine not much was left standing when you two were in town, huh?" His tone became more serious. "I'm sorry you've lost a friend, Colby. But the trouble is that Diane and her entire team disappeared within an hour of the incident and haven't been heard of since."

Colby frowned. "That doesn't surprise me, sir. The SAS are a very close-knit regiment, more of a family, really. They take one of their own being killed _real _personal. Even if he wasn't the intended target. Whoever took that shot better hope and prey that we find them before they do."

"Point 338 is a very specific calibre of weapon," interjected Ian. "High velocity sniper rifle, and that size is commonly used by the Brits. Are we _sure _Destiny was the target?"

"You mean someone could've been going after Gary?" Don frowned. "It's a possibility."

"Actually…it's a very strong possibility. Can you roll the tape back sir?" Colby leaned forward, studying the news report closely. Don glanced at him. This is what Colby was _really _good at. Seeing things that weren't obvious at first glance. Spotting something that wasn't _quite right. _His gut instinct had helped Don more times than he cared to count.

"What'ya seein' buddy?" Don leaned forward as well, studying the tape.

"Watch." Colby pointed at the screen. "See how Gary moves into position to cover Destiny's back?"

"Standard close protection procedure."

"Yeah, but for a full, what, fifteen, maybe twenty seconds Destiny's back is completely exposed to the angle that the sniper fired from. Ian, if you were taking the shot, would you wait until someone moved in the way of the target?"

"Hell no. That's called _missing._" Ian nodded in agreement. "Whoever took the shot had plenty of opportunity to take Destiny Bowyer out, if she _was_ the intended target. You could be right there, Col."

Colby sat back. "If we can work that out, you can bet a week's pay that Diane has as well. Which means Gary _was _the intended target. Which means Diane and her team are gonna be _pissed._"

White frowned. "Nevertheless, we have to investigate every possibility, including the one that Destiny Bowyer _was _the target and the sniper merely missed his opportunity. I've got her agent screaming from the rooftops over this, demanding that the FBI investigate the attempted assassination of the world's most bankable popstar. We've been put in an awkward position on this one, gentlemen. The publicity surrounding the attempt has made this a priority case."

"Why in the hell are we getting lumbered with that side of things? Surely that's LAPD's department?" Don couldn't disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"Her agent has demanded FBI intervention and LAPD have been _more _than happy to hand it over."

"Generous of them."

"Agent Eppes, believe me, I also think that it is a colossal waste of our resources, but I'm afraid Peterson's got friends in high places. He represents the Mayor and a string of Hollywood A listers, so I'm afraid we're stuck with it. I'd like your team to head up the investigation. But I'd like Agents Granger and Edgerton to work on the other possibility that it might have been a hit on the bodyguard team and not on Destiny Bowyer." White frowned. "And try and stop them, if you would. Before we have an all-out war with the SAS on our hands."

Ian quietly leaned across to Colby. "And you _know _who'd win that particular firefight, don't ya?"

Colby nodded. "Yeah. _Not_ us…"

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Ian Edgerton sat in the passenger seat of the black SUV thinking back over the briefing. Colby studied the road ahead, taking a left onto the main boulevard. "Club's up here on the left." Granger swung the SUV over to the side of the road and stopped. The tape still cordoned off the incident sight and LAPD officers stood guard. The two agents climbed out of the SUV and walked over to the scene, showing their badges to an officer that stepped up to challenge them. Gary Park's blood still stained the concrete of the sidewalk and Colby paused for a moment, remembering a fallen friend and colleague that he had liked immensely. Ian laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder as he noticed his quiet contemplation. "Shouldn't have ended like that, bud."

"No it shouldn't've." Colby scowled darkly and turned to his partner. "Jesus Ian, what the _hell _were a team of some of the best goddamn soldiers in the fucking _world _doing babysitting a popstar?"

"Dunno…money?" Ian shrugged. "Guess it was this or goin' _freelance_, ya know? I mean, can you honestly see Diane working in an office? Must be pretty tough for them once they've left the Army."

"Yeah, but c'mon, Ian. You and me are both ex-special forces and we turned out okay." Colby gave a sad smile. "I'd thought that, I dunno, maybe MI6 or one of the other British security services would've snapped them up."

"Col, until we actually catch up with them we won't know the answer to that." Ian glanced around, his expert eyes searching out the vantage point for the sniper. He pointed up towards a building. "Angle of the entry wound suggests that was probably the sniper's point. I'm gonna go check it out."

"I reckon this place has been picked clean by Don and the team already. Not much here that we don't already know." Colby looked thoughtful. "Listen bud, you okay here for a while?"

"Sure. Why?"

"Well, I got an idea. Whenever Diane and me were in the same location, we'd have a designated dead drop. Meant that we could communicate without having to use traceable electronics. Our LA dead drop isn't too far from here." He grinned. "Thought I'd leave her a calling card. See if she picks up."

Ian laughed. "Goddamn you spies and your underhanded little games, Col!"

Colby chuckled quietly. "Dee always called it the ancient Ninja art of Sneakibastard." He grinned back at Ian. "I'll be back in about 20."

"Watch your back, Col. Diane's not gonna take kindly to anyone getting in her way on this one."

Colby nodded and jogged back to the SUV…

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The park was filled with the usual joggers, dog walkers and workers taking a lunchtime break. The dead drop was in clear sight of all of them, yet hidden so perfectly nobody knew it was there. Always hide something in plain sight. Colby smiled to himself at the memory of that particular lesson he had learned over the years as he slipped the note into the almost invisible crack that split the bark of a tree. He walked on without stopping, certain that his actions had gone completely unnoticed. As he walked, he pulled out his cell-phone and tapped in a text to a number…

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Micky Cox sat at a box of electronics, soldering a PCB board into place. Phil Mountbatten sat quietly cleaning their weapons, glancing over at his oppos every so often. Diane was studying a laptop screen, scrolling through a document that was very clearly marked 'CLASSIFIED' and was also very clearly no longer so. Phil stopped cleaning and stared over at Diane. Her posture was tense – none of them had slept for 36 hours and time was running out. "Anything, Dee?"

"Nothing so far. Terry should be emailing anything he and Rob find over in the UK to us tonight. Dan's still en route to Afghanistan. How's those comms coming along, Mick?"

"I'm developing lung cancer from the solder fumes, but almost there, Guv."

"Good. As soon as…" Diane was interrupted by her mobile phone vibrating urgently. She picked it up and opened the new message. Four simple words…

'_You've got mail_. _CJ._'

Diane frowned. "Shit…"

**_TBC…_**


	3. City of Betrayal

Disclaimer

(Copy/paste) Blah, blah, don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. Blah, blah, do own story and character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter.

Are we done here?

WARNING: This story contains quite graphic scenes of violence and some swearing. Little ones, look away now...

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"You don't honestly think she'll go for it, do you Col?" The lift doors opened and the two ex-soldiers walked into the controlled chaos of the BullPen.

"Ian, it's the only thing I can think of right now, buddy. If she does, then at least it means she's willing to talk to us."

"To _you_, you mean." Ian raised an eyebrow. "I really doubt that Diane and any of her oppos are gonna want to talk to the FBI any time soon. You know how they work."

They turned into the lounge area of the office and closed the door behind them. David, sat at his desk across the room, glanced up and frowned at Don. "Here we go again, Don."

Don sighed and nodded. "Yeah, I know, Dave, I know. Us and them, huh?"

In the lounge, Colby busied himself making a fresh pot of coffee. Ian smiled quietly as he watched Granger put twice the usual amount of coffee into the filter paper. Colby, in Ian's opinion, was the only one in here that actually knew how to make a _decent _cup of Java. Army strength or what the Brits referred to as 'NATO issue'. David had put it differently; "Jesus H Christ! It's melting the freakin' cup!" he had once spluttered, much to Ian and Colby's amusement. Ian slumped down into an easychair and rubbed his eyes. The aroma of the coffee caught his attention and he wordlessly accepted the cup offered to him by Colby. Granger sat down with a sigh and leaned his head back onto the headrest of the chair, his eyes closed. "Yeah, Ian, I know how they work." He looked at Ian and shrugged. "I've had to talk Dee down off the ledge more than once, man." He shook his head. "I dunno, bud. She's always listened to me in the past. But this time?" He paused and took a mouthful of the poisonously strong coffee and stared thoughtfully into the cup. "Could be tougher."

"She and Gary were pretty tight."

"Yeah. Oppos. And you know how personally they take one of their own getting burned." Colby's voice was soft. He sounded tired, Ian thought. Tired and worried…

"Okay, so let's think this through." Ian shifted in his chair and held a finger up. "One. Let's say, for the sake of argument, that they've taken the view that Gary was the mark."

"Which we still don't know for sure," Colby interrupted.

"No, but Dee isn't gonna think like that, is she? They're gonna be out for revenge, buddy. So two," he held up another finger. "What's their next move, Col? C'mon, you worked with these guys even more than I did in Afghanistan. _And _elsewhere." Colby shot Ian a look of surprise, but Ian merely shrugged. He knew about Kosovo – how much, Colby had no idea, but the fact that he had implied that he knew about Colby's other 'operations' unnerved the younger man. "Col, I've read your jacket, buddy. Not all of it, admittedly. The Brits ain't the only ones who spell classified with a capital c, but what I know about you?" He shrugged. "I can kinda guess the rest."

"I'd rather you didn't, my friend. I'd hate to have to kill you." Colby flashed Ian a mirthless grin.

Ian let out a short laugh. "Col, the fact that you can joke about it tells me you're okay with this. Anyhoo. Back to the problem. What's her next move, Granger?"

Colby looked thoughtful. "Intel. She's got a team of seven, right? First thing she'd do is split the team. If someone's going after them, and it's still _if,_ she'll work under the assumption that several small teams are harder to hit than one big one." Colby took another mouthful of the rapidly cooling coffee. "The SAS work in small units anyway, usually three or four max."

"So by now," Ian glanced at his watch, "they've probably already split."

"Yeah. Thing is, if they were all working on operations together before they left the regiment, my guess is she'll have one team backtrack for intel."

Ian nodded. "Which means there's a good chance half the crew are already out of the US."

"You can bet on it, buddy."

Ian frowned. "Okay, so that has its advantages _and _disadvantages. Smaller confrontational force, potentially, but much harder to locate. More mobile."

"Highly."

"But the main unit's still gonna be in the States, right?"

Colby nodded. "They don't _run_, Ian. They just…kinda _disappear_. Then the bastards hit you when you ain't expecting it." He looked at his partner. "_Hard. _Usually terminally."

"That's what I'm worried about, Col. The term 'collateral damage' keeps popping into my head for some reason." He shot a glance to the window and towards the rest of the FBI team. "They ain't gonna stop to think who's in the way, bud. And it was a pretty close call with David last time."

Colby nodded. David hadn't talked to him about their previous encounter with the SAS. Colby had tried to broach the subject once he had returned to the team, but David had cut him dead by changing the subject in mid-sentence. Colby hadn't pressed the matter. He hoped that David would understand the motive behind Diane's extreme course of action, but their friendship had been strained for several weeks afterwards. It still weighed heavily on Colby. He hated to think that his friend and partner of more than four years held any kind of grudge against him for what had happened. He pushed the episode to the back of his mind and tried to focus on the here and now. He would make sure that he talked to David at length later on. Try to explain. Try to apologise – again…

Granger drained the last of his now cold coffee. "This is business, Ian. She doesn't hold grudges. Not against civilians, anyway."

Ian shrugged. "Okay. So what would her primary team consist of?"

"Tech, intel and logistics. She usually prioritises those three. Her role is usually intel."

"Any ideas on who her tech and logistics would be?"

Colby shook his head. "Not sure about logistics but tech would probably be Micky Cox. Guy's a goddamn genius with electronics and computers."

Barely noticeable movements in the corner of their eyes made both men look up sharply. Their senses were on DEFCOM2 at the moment. Don stood in the doorway, slightly taken aback by their instant reaction to what he thought was an almost silent entry into the room. The two ex-soldiers looked edgy…

"Hey guys. Waddya say?" He closed the door behind him and walked confidently into the room, trying to disguise his unease at being in the same room as the two men. The 'us and them' comment he had made to David was at the forefront of his mind. He felt as if he'd walked uninvited into some kind of military briefing – a civilian had no place in these matters and that feeling annoyed him. Colby was part of _his _team, not some mercenary soldier on a contract. Both of the men in front of him were ex Special Forces, and that cloud of secrecy that surrounded Ian and Colby in particular made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end…

"Hey Don." Colby's greeting was, as ever, laid back and easy going. But there was an edge to his voice again.

Don walked over to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup, his back to the two men. "So. Anything?"

Ian shook his head. "Not yet. I checked out what was the sniper's probable location. Clean."

Don turned to face them and brought the coffee cup up to his lips. He grimaced as the liquid hit his palate and he barely managed to stop himself from spitting the viciously strong coffee back into the cup. He glared accusingly at Colby. "You made this, didn't you?"

Colby grinned apologetically and nodded. "Yeah. Sorry 'bout that, man."

"Seriously? You tryin' to _poison_ me?" He tipped the remainder of the coffee into the sink and screwed up the paper cup, tossing it into a bin. Perching on the corner of a table, he studied the two men, choosing his next words carefully. "What about…Diane?"

Colby merely shrugged. "I've left her a message. If she goes for it, I'll know soon enough."

Don frowned deeply. "Yeah. That's…that's real _pro-active _of you, Col!"

"Don, trust us on this, will you?" Ian spoke before Colby had a chance to respond to Don's rebuttal. "This isn't a normal manhunt."

"You gotta try and understand who we're dealing with here," Colby began. "These guys are the best in the _world_, man. They're top of the foodchain. Don, they _train our_ people, for Christ's sake!" There was that sharp edge to Colby's voice again…"We push too hard, they'll just drop off the grid and we won't see them again until they hit."

"Really? Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Col, we got ourselves the best tracker in the FBI sittin' right here in this room!" Don was sick and tired of treading on eggshells around these two. _He _was in charge of this operation, not them!

"Thanks for the compliment, Don, but we're not dealing with some runnin' scared fugitive. We're dealing with a very highly trained and completely focused military unit. Like Col said. Top of the foodchain, buddy."

"Plus, _technically_ they haven't committed any crime here, Don." Colby shrugged.

Don scowled angrily at the younger man, his forehead lined with tension. "Yeah? Well, ya know somethin' Col? I can think of at least half a dozen felonies Diane Armstrong is still wanted for in my book! How 'bout kidnap of a federal agent, huh? Causing one…no, make that _two _major explosions? Assault? Do I have to go on here?" He counted the felonies off on his fingers, stabbing them angrily at Colby to drive the point home.

Colby rubbed his eyes, trying to think what to say next, to try and placate his irate boss. "Don…"

"_No,_ Colby, I don't wanna hear any of your justifications about getting the job done or importance to national security or any of that military spy _shit_, okay? You _find _her, you understand me? I am _not _gonna have some rogue SAS team runnin' around LA putting lives at risk just because they're on some revenge trip! Not on my watch, Col, are we clear?"

"No, sure, because that's _our _job, right?" Colby's sharp retort wasn't meant to be funny. Ian inwardly flinched as he saw both men heading for a collision of explosive proportions…

Don glared furiously at his junior agent and walked angrily to the door. As he reached it he turned and stared hard at Granger. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and full of barely suppressed anger. "You screw this up, you're off the team." Without waiting for a response, he left.

Ian puffed out his cheeks. "Whoa. Way to piss your boss off, buddy."

Colby stood up suddenly, his green eyes flashing dangerously. "Yeah? Well, ya know what Ian? Way to piss _me _off too!" He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the lounge…

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Colby leaned against the railing that ran around the roof of the FBI building. This was his bolthole when he needed to think. He ran his hand through his short hair and stared out at the pre-dawn darkness of LA. It was at times like this that he really felt homesick for the fragrant forests and towering mountains of Idaho. His head dropped and he closed his eyes, trying to calm his frayed nerves. He needed a break. Time to try and bring the white-hot anger that simmered just below the surface of his normally placid persona back under control. Time to try and stop that voice in his head from screaming every time he looked at the train wreck that was his life. He could feel his fingers clenching into a tight fist, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. He didn't notice the soft footsteps that came up behind him until the gravel gave a crunch close to his right side.

"Hey bro." David laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You okay?"

Instantly, Colby gagged the screaming voice in his head into silence and put the 'Colby Granger' mask back into place. He turned and smiled wearily at his partner. "Yeah. Just a bit of a bust up with Don, is all."

"Man, you two have _gotta _stop buttin' heads, dude!" David gave a humourless smile. "You're gonna give yourself a headache."

"Yeah, well, if this don't go well, it won't be a problem any more." Colby shrugged and stared out over the skyline. "Reckon you may have to find yourself a new partner pretty soon, bud."

David scowled at his friend. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It mean's that Don want's me off the team, Dave. It means that this time? Yeah, I'm kinda in agreement with him." Colby couldn't hold it in any more. He was sick and tired of being the whipping boy. All he had ever wanted was to fit in with the team, and he'd busted his ass every single day to try to do that. Despite all the undercover work. Despite all the 'other' operations he'd been involved in that Don and the team knew nothing about. He ran his hand over his face and sighed. "Look Dave, I understand that you guys ain't too happy about what's goin' on here, but believe me, I'm trying, man, I'm _fucking trying _to stop this from going nuclear, okay?"

David leaned against the railing and studied his friend. "Col, listen. I ain't gonna lie to you here, bud. When I heard that she was involved in all this, hey, I admit it, my first thought was when do I get a chance to put a bullet in that bitches head?" He held a hand up to stop Colby from responding. "No, wait up Col, hear me out, okay? But I also know that we're dealin' with something that's way out of our usual ballpark, man. There's this whole, loyalty to the regiment thing going on here, and I admit it, I don't understand it. I guess it's an army thing, right?" Colby nodded. "Okay, so understand where us _civilians _are comin' from, Col. It scares us. Okay? All this? This…_combat_ stuff? It's a whole 'nother league of nasty, buddy. And seein' it played out on the streets of LA frightens the hell outta Don. _And _me. People keep saying that there's a war going on out on the streets, gangs, drugs, guns, ya know? Well that may be, but when you get a bunch of trained soldiers fighting their _own _private wars out in public, it kinda ups the ante." He gripped Colby's shoulder tightly. "Col, I _trust _you. Okay? _OKAY?_ But tryin' to win this war by yourself is just gonna end up with you getting yourself killed! And right now, buddy, I want you to reassure me that you ain't on some kinda suicide mission, Colby. I wanna hear you say that to me _right now_."

Colby turned and stared at his friend. David had never seen his partner look so tired and so utterly vulnerable. The big man that always seemed so strong, so in control, so fearless – David could finally see just how damaged he really was… "I'm not on a suicide mission, Dave. I swear."

"Good. Because…" David was interrupted by Colby's cell-phone ringing. Colby frowned and pulled the phone from his pocket, glancing at the caller ID. He looked up at David…

"It's Diane…"

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The dark streets of Pristina glistened, wet with rain. They still smelled of fear...Terry Smith, ex-SAS and oppo of Diane Armstrong, had left London on a scrap of intel that had led him back to the Kosovo capital. His skin crawled as he jogged through the silent streets, glancing quickly behind him. He had sent the message back to Diane informing her of his change of plan. He'd got a lead, he'd told her. The meeting was set for tonight. As soon as he had confirmation, he'd call back. Diane had told him to watch his back and hung up. Right now, Terry's back was itching with a sensation of exposure. A sudden shout behind him and the sound of running feet confirmed that his 'sixth sense' had been right all along…

"Shit. Shit, shit, _SHIT!"_ Terry picked up the pace from a steady jog to a fast run, sliding around a corner on the slick cobbled surface of the street and into an alleyway. His arms pumped as he ran faster, looking for a bolthole, for cover, for concealment, _any-fucking-thing…_

The clatter of boots on the cobbles echoed behind him and a shouted conversation in Albanian told him who his pursuers were. Terry knew enough to translate the gist of the sharp orders that were being barked out. They knew he was here. They were hunting him down…

He shoulder barged a door in the wall to his right and it gave way under his bulk. He grabbed the handle and spun around, shutting the door quickly. Sprinting up the gloomy stairs, he could still hear his pursuers in the alleyway searching for his escape route. It was only a matter of time before they tried the same door…

He took the stairs two at a time and as he ran he pulled out his cell-phone. He had prepared a text message earlier, just in case things went south. Lucky he had, really…

A couple of flights up he found an open door and barged through it into a dimly lit corridor. The plaster was crumbling off the ancient walls and there were still bullet holes peppering the length of the ceiling and walls. The place stank of raw sewerage and mildew. The building wasn't abandoned – he could hear a child crying in a distant and filthy room somewhere and the sound of a woman's voice shushing the child urgently. A crash from downstairs told Terry that his pursuers had found the door and were pelting up the stairs in force. Terry kept running, the cell-phone clutched in his right hand. He only needed a few seconds, just enough time to send Diane the message…

A rotting door with peeling paint offered him the few seconds he needed. He skidded into the room and slammed the door shut, desperately searching around the room with his eyes to try and find something to barricade the door with. An old chair offered itself up for service and he wedged the back of it underneath the door handle. It would hold – just. Backing into a corner, he concentrated on the phone, praying under his breath that he could get a signal. "C'mon, _c'mon!" _The screen lit up. Two bars. Not much, but enough…

He hit Diane's number and punched in the text message, his fingers shaking as he forced himself to concentrate…The voices outside got closer and the door suddenly rattled. Terry glanced up, swallowing. No time to worry about them…His concentration focused back onto the phone and he hit 'send'. The fluttering image of an envelope scrolled across the screen. 'Message failed. Try again.'

"SHIT!" Terry stabbed at the panel again, ignoring the now urgent shouts outside the door. They had found him. He knew they would. Pristina was the city of betrayal for their team...The door shuddered as burly shoulders slammed against it, cracking the rotten wood and forcing the chair across the floor. Terry hit ''send' again and once more the fluttering envelope flashed across the screen…

The door shattered into pieces and uniformed men burst in. Terry looked up defiantly and transferring the phone to his left hand, his finger still on 'send', brought his gun up.

The room exploded in flashes of light and the crack of gunfire, the screams of dying and injured men telling Terry that at least three of his bullets had found their marks. He felt the first bullet slam into his chest, knocking him back against the wall, but still he kept firing. His body jerked as more slugs smashed into him, and he slumped against the wall, tasting the blood rising in his throat. His knees buckled and he slid to the floor, the gun clattering from his limp fingers. His vision blackened and he felt the last breath rattle inside his lungs…

The uniformed men clustered around the dead Briton, their guns still trained on his blood-covered body. Clutched in his left hand was a cell-phone smeared with his own blood, the screen showing a 'message sent successfully' notice. One man pushed his way through to Terry's lifeless corpse and crouched beside him, prising the cell-phone from his dead fingers. He looked at the screen and smiled quietly to himself…

**_TBC…_**


	4. Sands of Time

Disclaimer

The usual applies. Ya know. About me not owning anything to do with Numb3rs or the regular characters. But anyone tries to take the story or the character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter? Yeah, it'll go _badly_ for ya…

Warning: This story contains strong language and scenes of violence. As I don't know how to put a red triangle in the corner of the screen for you, this advisory warning should suffice. Or you can stick your own little red triangle in the corner of your computer screen, it's up to you...

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David raised an eyebrow as he watched his friend and partner stare at the ringing cell phone. "Ya gonna get that, Col?"

Colby looked at the phone as if it were covered in plague germs. Finally he flipped it open and pressed it to his ear. David noted that this time, unlike before, Colby didn't turn away like he usually did, but looked directly at him throughout. "Dee."

"_CJ."_

"We need to talk, baby." Colby's voice was gentle, concerned. The term of endearment was one that jarred in David's mind. He still saw the woman as a cold-blooded killer, capable of anything. Not some sweet little girlfriend in a pretty summer dress…

"_I don't…no, I don't think so, love."_

Colby frowned. He was hearing something in Diane's voice he'd never heard before. Uncertainty. Fear, even? "Non negotiable, soldier. You know it, I know it. You need to talk to me, sweetheart. You need to tell me what's goin' on here. Please." He looked at David, his green eyes clouded with emotion.

Eventually, Diane answered, her voice flat and toneless. "_Oh-five hundred. Our old place_. _**Alone**__, Colby." _

The line went dead and Colby snapped the phone closed, a worried expression on his face. "She's gone for it…"

333333333

The apartment was spotlessly clean and tidy. It wasn't much, but it was all he could afford on an FBI pay check. No…make that a _CIA _pay check… Colby glanced at his watch. 11pm. He had six hours before his meeting with Diane. He'd managed to avoid speaking to Don before leaving the Bull Pen two hours earlier. He was in no mood for another confrontation because this time he didn't think he'd be able to hold back. He needed some time on his own to think.

On the coffee table in front of him lay photos – momentos of another time, another place, another Colby Granger. He drained the last dregs of his coffee and sat back on the sofa, rubbing his eyes. He really should get a couple of hours sleep. Napping was a habit he'd picked up in the army. It had kept him alive all these years. He really couldn't remember the last time he had a full night's sleep that hadn't been interrupted with dreams, visions, nightmares of the hell he'd been through. The napping meant he managed to avoid REM sleep and so dodge dreaming too much. It was harsh on his body, but he'd adapted. He'd always adapted…Besides, the screaming voices in his head wouldn't _let _him sleep. They were there, all clamouring for attention, all of them yelling at him, warning him that something was very, _very _wrong…

He shook his head, trying to shut the voices out. Leaning forward, he picked up a photo, tattered by the years and creased, but still as clear as the day it was taken. He stared at it, lost in memories. Two powerfully built men stood grinning broadly, warm, genuine smiles, their arms around one another's shoulders, the jagged mud brick walls behind them the same colour as the desert cam they both wore. He flipped the photo over and read the back, as if he didn't already know what was written there. 'Me and Gary – Kumar Prov. 04.' Colby turned the photo back and stared at the image. Gary Parks. Explosives expert, pride of the SAS, _friend_. Colby smiled sadly at the picture. He and Gary had met in Afghanistan in '04. British and American troops had been taking a pounding for weeks, the Taliban relentless in their determination to blast every last allied solider back to infidel Hell. A joint operation had teamed a select band of British SAS and American Special Forces with the sole intent of giving the Taliban a taste of their own bitter medicine. Granger and Parks had been the explosives specialists and had hit it off immediately. Both men's bone-dry and pitch-black senses of humour had been lost on most of their colleagues, but the Brits had warmed to Colby straight away. They considered him as one of their own. The Deputy Director hadn't been far off the mark. Not much _was _left standing when these two rolled into town…

Colby's consciousness drifted and the comfortable familiarity of the apartment dissolved into the heat and dust of the Afghan desert. The smell of cordite and donkey shit, the dry taste of the dust in the back of his throat – it was as real as the coffee cup on his table. He could hear Gary's soft London accent running quickly through the checks as they placed the last of the C4 charges and then the low dash across nomansland, the hop over the bullet-marked mud brick wall, crouching as close to the ground as possible, the jagged edges of the rough bricks digging into the skin on their backs. Gary grinning, his finger poised over the button of the detonator. A voice in Colby's ear, giving them the all clear to blast. His 'okay' sign to Gary and Gary's cheerful "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" as he pressed the button. The microsecond of silence before the detonation sequence tore through the complex of sand-coloured buildings, the blast's shockwave punching through the air and their chests, making both men duck lower and throw their arms over their heads to protect themselves from the cascade of debris. The shouts and bursts of automatic gunfire, the screams of dying men ripping through the carnage…the ringing of an incessant buzzer…

Colby frowned. He didn't remember a buzzer…there shouldn't be a buzzer, not here, not in the middle of one of the worst hellholes on earth…

The door buzzer rang again, cutting through the memory and wrenching Colby back into his apartment. For a split second he was disorientated, unsure as to where he was, confused…"Shit!" He tossed the photo back onto the table and stood up, tense, trying to get his bearings back, trying to shift back into another reality. He rarely had visitors, especially at 11 at night…

He picked up his sidearm and moved silently through the apartment to the door, staying to one side of the frame. Peering carefully through the spyhole, he saw Don's face, distorted by the lens. Colby leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Oh, _man..._"Not again. Jesus Christ, not _again_…

He pushed the gun into the waistband of his jeans and carefully arranged his tee-shirt to hide the weapon. He sighed and pulled open the door, his face an expressionless mask. "Don."

Don held up a six-pack of beer and smiled sadly at Colby. "Thought you could use a beer, Col. Been a hell of a day."

"You got that right." Colby flashed a grin at his boss as he recognised the offer of a beer for what it was – Don's way of apologising. He stepped to one side, letting Don through the door and closing it quietly behind him. Don walked into the living room and glanced down at the table, noticing the photographs and memorabilia that lay scattered in a heap. In the box that lay open beside the photos he saw a set of medals that made his eyes widen. He had no _idea _that Colby had been so highly decorated during his military career…

Colby scooped up the photos, throwing them into the box and shutting the lid quickly. "Just…um…just sortin' through stuff." He opened a drawer and stuffed the box into it, out of sight out of mind…

Don looked quizzically at the man but instead of mentioning the medals, he merely held out a beer and sat down in a chair opposite Colby. Colby took the bottle with a nod of thanks and sat, worrying at the label on the bottle with a thumbnail. An awkward silence descended between them, neither of them knowing what to say, where to start…

"So. This ain't a social visit, Don. What's up?" He glanced up, his green eyes masking the turmoil of emotions beneath.

Don swallowed a mouthful of beer, not meeting Colby's gaze. "Things got a bit heated between us today, Col." He put the beer down and leaned forward, his clasped hands resting tensely between his knees. "Kinda been happening a lot lately, huh?"

"Pretty much." Colby's non-committal and somewhat flippant answer caused Don's fingers to tighten.

"Look Col. I don't know what's goin' on with you bud, but…"

"Wanna explain to me Don why it's always what's goin' on with me you think is the problem?" Colby slammed the bottle on the table and glared at his boss. "Don, you know I'd follow you into hell and back if you asked me, you _know _I would! But lately? You been a _real asshole_, you know that?" He stood up angrily and began to pace, running one hand through his short hair. He turned abruptly and faced Don, his face a concerned mask of apology. "I'm…hey, look man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, I really didn't. I guess it's me that's the asshole here, right?"

"No, buddy. You were right the first time." Don's quiet admission stopped Colby in his tracks.

"_What_?"

"I said you're right." Don looked at the man. "Col, do you have the slightest idea how much I rely on you and David? How important you _both _are to the team? How fucking difficult my job would be if I didn't have you guys covering my back? _That's _why I bust your ass so damn hard, Colby, because I know how _damn good _you are! You _and _David. And believe me, I bust _his _ass just as hard!" He sat back. "I'm not gonna give you any crap about how much responsibility sits on my shoulders Col, you're a smart guy, you know how command works, right?" He threw a pointed glance towards the drawer that hid a box containing Colby's past. Colby followed his gaze. He realised that Don had seen the medals. He nodded silently. "You know how much bullshit we have to wade through to get a job done, how fucking politics corrupts everything we do, how it makes the job ten times harder, yeah?"

Colby stood, lost in thought, his hands on his hips. "That don't explain why you're on my case twenty-four seven, Don. Why I feel like I have to keep proving myself every damn day I walk in there. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me _not _to run away after the Chinese affair? How much easier it would have been for me to take the DC job?"

"Yes, Col, I _do._ Because I've screwed up in the past, buddy. As bad as you did. But I didn't have the justification of following orders to uncover a major DoJ leak. I didn't get a medal of meritorious conduct as a result. _I _got my _ass_ handed to me on a plate and damn near kicked out of the Bureau! And lately?" Don sighed and leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed. "I dunno, Col. I keep wondering if it's all worth it. If we're doing the right thing. And then I walk into the Pen and see you guys, busting a gut to get the job done, to _do the right thing_ and I just…" He paused and looked at Colby. "I just don't wanna see you fuck up your careers by makin' the same kind of mistakes I've made." He flashed Colby a wry smile. "'Cause Colby? Gotta tell you, man. Everything you do is one hundred percent, isn't it? And that's why I can't think of anyone I'd rather have at my back in a tight spot. But here's the thing. That full-on, all or nothing way of yours? Means when you fuck up, man do you do it _big style_, my friend!"

Colby just stared at Don and then suddenly let out a shout of laughter. "Jesus Christ! You sound just like my old army CO!" He chuckled to himself, but Don noticed that he continued to pace edgily. The man was as brittle mentally as a sheet of glass…"So. Where does this leave us, Don?" Colby's manner changed abruptly and he stopped in mid-pace.

"It means I'm gonna keep bustin' your ass, Col. It means I'm gonna keep the bar fuckin' high where you're concerned, and I'm gonna be kickin' you just as hard every time you fail to get up there. And you know why? Because the medals in that box that you tried to hide from me oh so casually a few minutes ago tell me I'm right about you." He stayed seated. Standing up would be interpreted as a confrontational move and right now? He really didn't rate his chances physically if Colby decided he felt threatened…"You're one of the bravest men I've ever known, Col. Not just physically, but up here too." He tapped the side of his head. "When one of us needs you, you're right there. Bang. All the way. But when you need _us_?" Don shook his head. "Asking for help doesn't make you weak. Colby. It makes you part of a _team_. And I _know _that's what you want more than anything else, right?"

Colby looked at his boss, a lopsided smile creasing his face. "You been taking psychology lessons from Megan again, Don?"

Don laughed and shook his head. "No, I just think I'm finally getting a handle on where you're comin' from, Granger!" He leaned forward and fixed Colby with a hard stare. "You need our help, Col, and we need yours. I _know _you can get Diane to stand down, but what's that gut instinct of yours tellin' ya? Ya know, the one that's gotten mine and David's asses outta a sling god knows how many times?"

Colby sighed deeply. "It's tellin' me things are gonna go south real quick, Don." He sat down heavily and picked up his beer. "I ain't got a clue why, or who, or when. Gut's tellin' me something bigger is behind all this." He shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe Dee'll be able to shed a little more light on things." His voice dropped and Don noticed the note of genuine concern that crept in. "She sounded scared, Don." He looked directly at Don. "I never heard her sound like that. Not even in…" Colby stopped mid-sentence.

"In what, Col?"

"Nothin'…it's…nothin'."

"Don't _do _that, Colby!"

"I'm sorry, bud, it's classified."

"Want me to bust your ass again?!"

"Nope."

"But you're not gonna finish that sentence, are you?"

Colby grinned and shook his head. "Nope!"

Don couldn't help himself. He chuckled quietly. "You drive me nuts, you know that?"

There was that grin again. "Yep."

"God damn it, Granger!" Don laughed and held up his bottle. "So are we good here?"

Colby's grin suddenly evaporated and he nodded slowly, clinking his bottle against Don's. "Yeah. We're good…"

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Dawn crept slowly over the beach. At this hour, the normally crowded space was deserted. Not even a lone jogger broke the monotony of the sand. The black SUV pulled into the parking lot and rolled to a stop. Don Eppes killed the engine and sat back. Colby's eyes, hidden by his SWAT issue black sunglasses, scanned the beach. "She said alone, Don."

"And we've already had this conversation, Col." Don opened the driver door. "You go in with back-up. Me. Clear?"

"Just tellin' ya what she said, boss!" Colby gave Don a lopsided grin and opened his door, stepping out into the early morning sunshine. He nodded towards a lone figure sitting on the beach. "There she is."

The two men walked towards the hunched figure. A black, hooded top shielded the face from view. Colby knew instinctively that the hidden face was one he would recognise. He approached her carefully, coming up on her right side, in plain sight. Don was just one step behind him…

"Dee?"

The figure pushed the hood of the sweat-top back and turned. Short auburn hair framed an elfin, drawn face. The plait may have gone but the vivid green eyes were unmistakable. Diane Armstrong frowned. "What bit of the word _alone _are you having trouble understanding, CJ?" Her London accent was sharp, but Colby and Don could hear a note of concerned exhaustion in the words.

Colby grinned at her. "Love what you've done with your hair, babes!"

"Fuck you."

"Not here beautiful, we got company." Colby sat down next to her. "So. Wanna tell me what's goin' on?" The banter had gone, replaced by a cold, clinical tone.

"Nothing to do with the FBI, CJ."

"It has everything to do with us, Diane." Don stood in front of the woman and took his sunglasses off, looking her in the eye. "You seen the papers? That sniper attack is all over the front pages. Destiny Bowyer's people have insisted that the FBI look into it." He shrugged. "So here we are. Lookin' into it. And guess what I'm seeing?"

"A big heap of bugger all?" Diane shrugged.

"Exactly. But at the bottom of this big heap of nothin' is a whole 'nother heap of crap that's suckin' one of my agents back into something he doesn't wanna be a part of any more, Di. So we kinda get protective about that, where Colby's concerned. He's part of _our _team now, lady. Not yours."

"Don…"

"No, Col, let me finish." Don crouched down in front of Diane. "Every time you show up, it's like watching a train wreck happen. Now I find out that there's an entire team of you people and that a simple matter of someone taking a pot shot at a celeb turns into an international fuckin' incident. So tell me what I _should _be thinkin' Diane. 'Cause I'd really like to know." Don stared at the woman, ready for a confrontation with her.

"He's right, Dee. You know he is. Look. We're not here to bust you, okay? If you're in trouble, we can help. Babes, you ain't in the army any more. You're a civilian. And you need our help. Otherwise you wouldn't have agreed to meet me." Colby put a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned against him, burying her head in his shoulder. "Talk to me, baby. _Talk _to me!" He kissed her gently on her forehead and tipped her chin up with a finger, gazing deep into her eyes. "What the hell is going on, Dee?"

"Terry's dead." Her voice wavered as she said the two words.

"Oh no…" Colby's eyes closed and he shook his head.

"Who was Terry?" Don directed the question at Colby.

"Terry Smith. Intel expert, ex-SAS. How, Dee?"

"He was in Pristina. I sent him back to London to do some digging and he told me he'd got a lead. Next contact I had from him was Kosovo. He told me he had a meet with someone who would be able to give us some intel on who ordered the hit on Gary. He didn't make the meeting. But he sent me a text before he died. Three words."

"Which were?"

"Operation Amber Room."

A muscle twitched in Colby's jaw and he sat back. Don could see that the three words had an impact on the man, but why? "Jesus…" Colby rubbed a hand over his face. When he next spoke, Don could hear a note of urgency in his voice. "We gotta get you out of here, babes. How many of your team are still in LA?"

"Micky Cox and Phil Mountbatten. They've gone dark."

"Gone dark?" Don looked quizzically at Colby.

"Gone to ground." He gripped Diane's shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Okay, it's simple, babes. You get your guys and you come in. We'll give you the protection you need."

"And who's gonna protect _you, _CJ? You were part of the operation as well, remember?"

"Right. So we've all got targets on our backs. But right now my team are flying blind, baby. And that's unacceptable. So you get your team and you _come in_, are we clear?"

"I'll talk to them."

"Not enough, Dee."

"Look CJ, I'm in _no fucking mood _to argue, okay? I'll give you everything we have. I've got people tracking down leads in Afghanistan and London, but until I hear from them, I'm no further forward than you are. Brief your team on Amber Room. If your boss here is prepared to work with us, then maybe, _maybe, _Colby, we can all get out of this alive. If not?" She stopped and shrugged. "Well… it's been fun, baby." She kissed him quickly and stood up, tossing a phone down to him. "If it rings, pick up. It'll be me. I'm on speed-dial one. It's a clean phone. Don't call me on the old number. It's been compromised."

Without another word she turned and jogged away across the sand…

**_TBC…_**


	5. Wreckage

Disclaimer

I, the undersigned (by Lloyds of London, they don't just do ships, you know) hereby declare that I have no direct link to the writing or production of Numb3rs and therefore don't own a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g to do with it. I do, however own sole rights to Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and the story and I'll have speaks with anyone who says otherwise.

Warning: This story contains scenes of violence, quite a bit of swearing and images that some people may find disturbing. Personally, I find images of Paris Hilton disturbing, but hey, that's just me... If you don't like that kind of thing, then accept the author's apologies and try just sticking your fingers in your ears and going 'lalala!' over the violent bits...

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Don put the SUV into drive and he and Colby left the peace of the deserted beach and headed back to the controlled chaos of the Bullpen. He frowned as he thought back over the conversation with Diane and Colby's reaction to the mention of the operation they had both been involved in. "OK, Col, gotta admit buddy, I got a few questions here."

"What was Operation Amber Room?"

"That was pretty high on the list, yeah."

Colby shrugged. "It was a joint op between us and the Brits. It started in Afghanistan in 02. We knew from our CID investigations that someone was siphoning off supplies from the quartermasters. Started off with small stuff, ya know, boots, webbing, that kinda thing? Usual crap that we ended up investigating all the damn time. Then? Well, someone raised the stakes. Next thing we knew there were boxes of grenades, ammo, even tankbuster missiles goin' missing. That's when the Brits got involved. They had intel that someone was selling this shit to the Taliban via a third party, I mean, c'mon man, they were using our own damn weapons to kill us! The intel put a guy by the name of Robert Wilson under surveillance. He was a Brit soldier who up until then seemed to be just a regular squaddie. I never actually found out where the Brits got their intel from. At the time they were a bit reluctant to share too much information with us." Colby paused, staring out of the window.

Don prompted the man. "Then?"

"Well, _then_ we get word that Wilson has gone AWOL. The Brits went nuts, they take AWOL real serious. Honestly Don, I think they'd still willingly shoot anyone who took a time out without permission if they had a chance. Anyhoo, we realised that the Taliban weren't getting the supplies direct from Wilson, Christ man, even _he _wasn't _that _dumb. He was selling the stuff to a Russian consortium…"

"For consortium I guess I'm reading _Mafia _here, right?"

"Right. _They _were buying this stuff from Wilson and paying him good money for it. He had a whole damn operation in place, he wasn't working alone. They were then selling this stuff onto the Taliban who were paying them in good, old-fashioned, Golden Triangle heroin. It was a drugs deal, man, pure and simple. Operation Amber Room was set up to try and shut the whole thing down, in Afghanistan, Kosovo and Moscow. Diane and I took the Kosovo end of the operation."

"Okay, so pretty simple so far. But I get the feelin' things got more complicated, huh?"

"Yeah. _Real _complicated." Colby fell silent again for a moment, lost in a dark place filled with agonising memories. "See, it turned out that it wasn't just an arms for dope deal going down. The Russians were also passing intel on to the Taliban. Troop movements, deployments, undercover ops, the whole nine yards."

"Where in the hell were they getting the intel from?"

"It wasn't Wilson, well, not _directly_. He didn't have the clearance or access to the intel. The arms deals were a cover to divert our attention away from a counter-terrorism operation the CIA was running. The Brits pulled out all the stops and hunted him down to a shithole in the middle of Prague. Apparently he didn't put up that much of a fight when Gary and Phil picked him up. Guess he knew who'd come out on top. He sang like a canary. Ratted his entire operation out. The Brits arrested everyone involved, it was a major scandal. But the weird bit wasn't that these guys had been earning themselves a bit more of a pension by stealing munitions and selling them to the Ruskies. What _was _weird was that Wilson 'fessed up during interrogation to the fact that he'd been ordered to carry on with the arms deals on someone's authority pretty high up in military intelligence."

"The CIA?"

"Yep. He didn't know who he was dealin' with, obviously, ya know, plausible deniability and all that shit. He was a patsy. Just a dude who got greedy and the CIA took advantage of it. They thought it would be more believable if they recruited a Brit rather than one of their own. Reinforced their own deniability in the whole damn thing. Trouble was, not _all _of the intel they were feeding to the Russians and so on to the Taliban was false." Colby's eyes darkened. "Someone was throwing in some real intel. Someone on our own side."

"Col, I gotta ask. Why in the hell were _you _involved?"

"I specialised in two areas in the army. Explosives were a kinda sideline. Just something I was, I dunno, _naturally _good at?" Colby flashed a grin. "My engineering degree gave me the kind of background that just makes me pretty good at blowing shit up. I'm okay, but I was nowhere near Gary's level. Man, that guy could make a cake mix explode!" He chuckled quietly to himself. "My main role was interrogation, counter-intelligence and counter-terrorism. I carried out the interrogation on Wilson. I was working with the SAS at the time as part of another operation. Diane and I left for Kosovo immediately after we'd finished dealing with Wilson."

Don scowled deeply. "Man, this is giving me a _headache_, Colby!"

"It gave _everyone _a headache, buddy. That file that we got from Aranimov? It had a list of everyone who was involved in Amber Room. Most of it, as I said, was bull. Dis-information designed to confuse the crap out of both the Russians and the Taliban. The aim was to put them at odds with each other. That way we hoped they'd find out the intel was phoney, blame each other for trying to pull a fast trick and obliterate each other without us havin' to waste resources on doing it for them. Getting them to turn on each other."

"Did it work?" Don glanced in his rear-view mirror and noticed a large truck behind them. The winding road leading from the beach up to the main freeway was narrow and wasn't a common route for semis…

"To a point. Amber Room has been an ongoing operation for the last seven years. It lists everyone who has been involved and currently _is _involved. Don, this goes all the way up to the damn Pentagon. We were concerned that a copy of the list had made it out into the wind six months ago. When nothing happened, we thought we were clear. Obviously we were wro…"

Colby was interrupted by the entire SUV shuddering from an impact. The truck had slammed into the fender and Don struggled to control the wheel. "JESUS!" Colby grabbed the overhead handle to stop himself being thrown forward as the SUV lurched across the road.

"HOLD ON!" Don pressed hard on the gas pedal, but the semi was too close. It reared up behind them a second time and crashed into the SUV again, lifting the back end up and pushing the nose of the car into the tarmac. Metal screamed as it twisted from the impact and both men felt the SUV spin around on its axis towards the guardrail at the edge of a steep drop. There was nothing they could do…

The semi pushed the back of the SUV, forcing it towards the precipice. The wooden fencing shattered as the nose of the SUV punched through it and gravity took over. Don and Colby threw their hands in front of their faces as the car careened down the slope, tumbling and spinning as it crashed to the gully floor below…

The twisted carcass of the SUV came to a stop on its roof, the wheels spinning slowly. Dust and silence descended over the gully. The semi paused, its driver glancing down on the wreckage of the SUV, looking for signs of life. There were none. The truck's air-brakes hissed and the semi trundled sedately away from the scene…

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"So you're saying we should put our trust in the Feds, Dee?" Micky sat back, a puzzled expression on his face. His boss had returned from her early-morning meeting with Colby and had told them of the conversation she had had with Don and their old friend. "Look, I know CJ's good, but…"

"Micky, he was right. We're not with the regiment any more. We're civilians. And right now, we're as vulnerable as hell. Anyone with any connection to the operation is at risk and we know damn well that whoever we're up against have the jump on us right now. We need to consolidate what we have and we _need _access to intel that only CJ can get for us." Diane ran a hand through her newly shorn hair. Micky frowned – he'd never seen his boss look this worried, not even in Kosovo. He glanced at Phil, who merely raised an eyebrow. Phil was thinking the same, too.

"We've got no way of knowing who or what we're up against, here, Dee. I understand your concern, but let's face it, guv. You ain't the most popular person at the FBI." Phil shrugged. "You _honestly _think that they'll back our play?"

"If we back theirs, yes. Look. There's nobody we'd rather have at our back than CJ, right?" The two men nodded in agreement. "This is his manor. He knows the territory, we don't. All the urban warfare training in the world isn't going to help us here if we don't know who or what we're up against. Colby has access to databases that even Micky here can't hack his way into. We _use _what resources we can, lads. And if that means co-operating with the Feds, well, then so be it."

"What about this Eppes character?" Micky leaned forward on his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. "We know CJ's on the level, but…"

"Eppes is good. Bloody good. You think that CJ ended up in his team by _accident_?" Diane flashed a tired smile. "I'll personally vouch for the man. _And _Sinclair. Although David has no reason to have any sympathy for me personally, he'll stand by his boss and CJ. Seriously guys. We can trust 'em."

"You're _sure_?"

"Phil, I'm sure. What bloody options do we have?"

"What about Danny?"

"Nothing yet. And yes, I _am _concerned. For _all _of us."

The three ex-soldiers sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts for a moment. Finally, Micky Cox broke the deadlock. "Okay. Like you said, guv, what option do we have?"

Diane stood up. "Right then. Break camp. Best thing we can do now is get out of here and move on to another location. I'll contact CJ and tell him we're coming in." She paused. "I'm sorry I've let you down on this one, lads."

"Hey! C'mon, boss, it's not your fau…"

"It _is _my fault, Micky. I should've seen this coming. We _all _should've…"

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David hadn't relished the idea of interviewing Destiny Bowyer. He had no time for the shallow side of Hollywood's public face – the glamour, the glitz, the sheer frivolity of it all. His suspicions that all A-listers were basically narcissistic, paranoid, arrogant money-grabbers who cared little for what he called 'real' people had been confirmed by the frosty reception he had received from the diminutive blonde who sat in front of him. He was in the middle of questioning a material witness to a _murder, _for Christ's sake and here was this woman, answering his questions in monosyllabic grunts whilst engaged in a self-indulgent manicure. David tried to push his personal distaste for the woman to one side and carried on questioning her.

"So is there anyone you can think of who might have a reason to take a shot at you, Miss Bower?"

She stared at him with a vacant expression, a sneer puckering her face. "Ain't that _your _job to work out, FBI man?"

David took a deep breath. 'Hold it together, bud' he thought to himself. "I was hoping you'd be able to narrow the field down a touch."

"I get all kinda whacks bothering' me all the time. My agent usually deals with this kinda thing. Can't you go ask him your dumb questions?"

"Your agent wasn't the one being shot at. You were. Care to tell me why?" David reluctantly found himself having just a touch of sympathy with the sniper. He could fully understand why someone would want this airhead dead…

Destiny suddenly sat forward, sending her manicurist into a touting huff as she pulled her hand away and wagged a slim finger at David. "Listen, buddy. I had someone shoot at me, okay? I'm sorry that…what was his name?"

"Gary Parks."

"Yeah, him, got shot. But that was his job, right? To stop me getting a slug in the back? What I wanna know is what you people are doin' to stop it from happenin' again! My whole security team fuck off and leave me exposed, I have to get a _whole _new team in to take over…and they're pretty shit, by the way…and you guys are sitting on your asses doin' fuck all to find the son of a bitch who tried to kill me! Talk to Nathan. I told you. He deals with everything. I don't know _nothin' _okay?" She sat back and pointedly ignored David, holding a tiny hand up to her manicurist to carry on preening. David bit his lip to stop what he _wanted _to say to this spoilt brat from blurting out and stood up.

"Thank you for your co-operation, Miss Bowyer. I'm sure we'll have more questions for you at some point." Without waiting for her comment, he turned and walked out of the mansion towards his sedan.

His phone buzzed urgently in his pocket and he pulled it out, flipping it open and pressing it to his ear. "Sinclair."

"_Dave, it's Meg." _Her voice sounded emotional, choked.

"Meg? Everything okay?"

"Colby and Don have been hurt. Their car went off the road. Dave, it's pretty bad…"

David stopped in mid-stride, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. "Where?"

"_County General."_

"I'm on my way." He snapped the phone shut and sprinted to the car, wrenching the door open and gunning the engine. He sped away from the frivolity of the mansion and back into the cold, dark real world…

**_TBC....._**


	6. Fevered Dreams

Chapter 6

Disclaimer

HEAR YE! HEAR YE! HEAR YE! As much as it pleases you good burghers of the virtual world of Fanfictionville, let it be hearby known that the author has no claim over the contents, characters or stories of Numb3rs, the hit televisual entertainment made of moving images, but has sole ownership of the characters of Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong and the story! This has been a town-cryer announcement! And now a word from our sponsors…

Warning: This story does contain some strong langauge and scenes of violence. If you're part of the moral majority and that thing gets you all hot and bothered, don't say I didn't warn you...

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David hit the double doors of the hospital ward at a flat run, panic rising up inside him like bitter bile. Megan Reeves heard the doors crash back on their hinges and spun around, startled by the excessive noise in the normally tranquil surroundings of the hospital ward. David ran towards her. She could see the desperate concern written clearly across his face. She moved forward to meet him, her arms outstretched, trying to calm him before he brought nurses and doctors running from all points due to the noise of his entrance. "David! It's okay, they're alive, Dave, their both alive!" She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

"What the _hell _happened?" David embraced her back, the physical contact as much a support for him as it was for her. He felt his legs almost buckle with relief at the news that his two friends were still alive. Megan guided him to the vinyl-covered chairs that lined the corridor and sat him down gently. David sat down and ran a shaking hand over his face, taking just a second to get his composure back. He stared at Megan intently, his brown eyes still mirrors of concern.

"We don't know for certain. Forensics are still at the scene. They were driving back from the beach, I still don't know why they were out there at that time of the morning…"

David's eyes narrowed. "I do. Diane." He hissed the woman's name through gritted teeth. "Colby said he was gonna meet with her. Don must've gone with him." Megan noticed his hands tighten into balled fists. "Christ, Meg! That bitch is freakin' _toxic_! Everyone she touches ends up dead or damn as near!" He took a shaking breath. "How are they?"

"Hurt. Don's resting."

"Colby?"

"He's still out cold."

"We need to talk to Don, Meg. _Now…"_

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Don winced as the sharp jab of pain stabbed into his side. He gingerly touched his hand to his ribs and winced again. At least two busted. He struggled to try and sit up, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain and nausea that swept through him. His eyes screwed closed in agony and he couldn't stop a grunt of pain escaping his lips.

"Whoa, whoa, _whoa! _What in the hell do you think you're tryin' to do, Don?" David and Megan moved quickly to either side of Don's bed, laying gentle but firm hands on his shoulders and easing him back down onto the pillows. Don tensed in protestation but eventually gave in and lay back with another grunt of pain.

"I'm okay, guys, really. I'm okay." Don gasped for breath as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position. His ribs hurt like a bitch…

"Yeah? That ain't what the doctor's said, buddy!" David frowned. "You're damn lucky to be alive!"

"I know, I know." Don's breathing eased and he opened his eyes painfully and looked up at David. "How's Col?"

"Still unconscious." Megan tried, unsuccessfully, to hide the concern in her voice.

"Shit…" Don covered his eyes with a hand, trying to clear his head, trying to think…

David sat down next to his boss and stared intently at him. "What happened Don? Who did this?"

"We got run off the road. A semi. Came up behind us and pushed us through the barrier. Trust me guys, this was _very _deliberate." Don told the two agents what had happened – the meeting with Diane, his conversation with Colby, the accident, everything. They listened to every word, taking in every detail. Eventually, Don paused. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and full of emotion. "After we landed, I knew we were both hurt, but I couldn't move. All I could think of was I could smell gasoline. I must've blacked out for a minute 'cause next thing I knew Colby was practically ripping the door off and yelling my name at me. He cut me loose from the safety belt – I reckon that was what did my ribs – and yanked me out of the car. He was covered in blood, man. I don't remember anything after that. Guess I must've blacked out again." He fell quiet, closing his eyes against the bright glare of the hospital lights.

Megan tenderly stroked his forehead and Don's eyes flickered open again. She smiled gently at him. "Granger was the one who called it in, Don. He left the phone connection on so we could trace his signal. Otherwise we would've never have gotten to you in time."

Don smiled weakly. "Someone better go sit with him in case he comes around. You know how difficult a patient he can be!"

For the first time that day, David let a small smile pass his lips. He nodded in agreement. He knew that Colby hated feeling vulnerable. "I'll go. Meg, you stay here, just in case he tries somethin' dumb like trying to sit up again, okay?"

"Do I have permission to use soft cuffs on him if he won't comply?" Megan smiled, the relief in her eyes tempered still with concern for Colby.

"Oh, _hell _yes!"

"Hey, right here in the room, guys!" Don grinned at their banter, but the grin turned into a grimace as another stab of pain hit him. "Seriously, guys, don't worry. I ain't movin' any time soon, okay?"

"Make sure you don't, Don. You may be our boss, but see that monitor?" He pointed at the machine by Don's bed. "That gives me and Meg a trump card over you, got it?" He turned and started to walk out of the room.

"Dave…" Don's voice stopped David and he turned back. "Diane gave Colby a phone. A black Nokia. Make sure he's still got it and then get it to me, would you?"

"Sure." David nodded and quietly left the room…

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Colby's room was silent except for the incessant beeping of a monitor. David stopped at the open door, a sickening punch of dread hitting him in the gut as he saw his best friend for the first time since the accident. The nurse had given him the Nokia and he'd delivered it back to Don. He'd resisted the temptation to wash his hands after handling the phone. It seemed to him that anything touched by Diane Armstrong was tainted – poison. Yet his friend, his partner and a man who despite being seriously hurt had thought first and foremost about the life of his boss before his own, seemed to care about her, possibly even in some strange, twisted way _love _her…

David moved quietly into the room and pulled up a chair next to the bed. He looked at his friend. Colby's skin had a sickly, grey pallor. A livid bruise ran across his right cheekbone, the skin around his eye already nearly black. A vicious cut ran across his forehead and over his temple, held closed with at least eight white, surgical plaster strips. His right forearm was bandaged, hiding a mass of lacerations where he had punched through the windscreen to escape the wrecked SUV. Ugly, purple bruising surrounded the cut over his temple. He knew from his brief talk with the doctors that Colby had suffered extensive bruising to his torso and had four broken ribs. David laid a gentle hand on Colby's battered shoulder. "Jesus, Colby! You _gotta _stop doin' this, man!"

Colby didn't respond. David sighed and sat back, resting his chin on his hand and watching the prone figure in the bed intently…

In the darkness of unconsciousness, Colby saw the images flash in front of him…

_The splintering crash barrier as the SUV punched its way through, hanging for a second on the edge of the drop before tipping forward and barrelling down the slope. Like a movie-goer watching a film, he saw himself throw a protective arm across his face as the SUV lurched to the right and tipped over onto its side, rolling onto its roof and crumpling as it bounced off boulders and rocks on its relentless journey to the bottom of the slope…_

_The silence._

_For a few seconds, Colby lay, suspended by the safety belt upside down in the car, the blood running into his eyes. He fought against the welcoming blackness of unconsciousness. If he lost consciousness now, they would both die – he could smell the gasoline already spilling out from the ruptured fuel tank of the SUV. Gritting his teeth against the agony that slammed into him, he fumbled for the release catch of the safety belt, knowing the drop would bring with it fresh pain. His hands, slick with his own blood, scrabbled at the catch and finally it gave. He dropped onto the roof of the cab with a yelp of pain, gasping as he felt the sharp stab of a broken rib jab into his skin. He called out to Don. Nothing. He reached across, dreading what he might find. Fighting against another wave of blackness that threatened to overtake him, he felt for a pulse in Don's neck. It was there. He was alive. Colby shifted his body, this time welcoming the pain to focus his mind from succumbing to unconsciousness. Memories of a burning Hummer in Afghanistan spurred him on – he was not gonna die like that, not here, not there, __**not ever**__! His deepest fear surfaced – dying trapped and helpless in a burning vehicle. This time there was no buddy to pull him out. This time, he had to get **them **out…_

_His legs were folded underneath him and the only way out was through the crazed glass of the windscreen. His door was twisted and crushed beyond any chance of opening. The adrenaline was coursing through his body; he could feel its effects giving him the ability to tap into a reserve of strength and effort that would otherwise have long since abandoned him. He let out a bellow of sheer rage as his balled fist made contact with the already weakened glass and it shattered under his blow. He felt the glass cut deep into his arm, but ignored the fresh source of pain. Withdrawing his arm through the glass, he pushed hard and the windscreen tipped out of the frame in a single, green opaque block. Still running on adrenaline and a determination to get both of them clear of a potential fireball and an agonising death, he dragged his battered body out of the car through the gaping windscreen and collapsed in a heap on the dusty ground. It wasn't enough. He knew it wasn't enough…_

_With a massive effort, he staggered to his feet, blinded by the blood that poured from the headwound and into his right eye. It stung. Stung like a bitch. His head span - he knew he'd taken a blow to his skull but head wounds always bled like a bastard... He took a couple of deep, shaking breaths and waited for the dizziness to subside... Supporting his shaking body by grabbing hold of the edge of the SUV, he made it around to Don's door. It was wedged. Gritting his teeth, he let out a roar of pain, effort and sheer hatred at a world that kept beating the fucking CRAP out of him and wrenched at the door, his arm muscles bulging with the strain as he hauled on the handle. The metal screamed in protest but finally gave, sending him stumbling backwards and down back into the dirt. He called out Don's name again, his voice hoarse and frantic. The smell of gasoline was getting stronger… _

_He staggered to his feet a second time and toppled forward, landing on his knees in the dirt next to Don's unconscious form. The safety belt was still on and Colby scrabbled at the catch. It wouldn't give. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulled out a non-FBI issue lock knife. Don had told him about carrying it before, but old habits died hard. Rangers didn't go anywhere without a battle knife of some kind… He flicked the knife open and sawed through the straps, supporting Don's head with one hand._

_A flicker of flame on the underside of the SUV made him look up. He had seconds before it blew…_

_At last, the straps gave and Don's unconscious body slumped into Colby's waiting arms. He hooked his own, bloodied arms underneath Don and dragged him out of the car. The effect of the adrenaline rush was beginning to subside and the pain came in sickening waves now. With a final, last-ditch effort, he pulled Don clear and away from the burning car, just out of reach of the inferno that he knew was about to engulf the vehicle. He lay back on the dirt, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. Help. They needed help…_

_Colby reached a shaking hand into his pocket and he pulled out his cell-phone. He could barely see the screen through the blood in his eyes and the mist of pain that descended down on him. Stabbing a speed-dial number, he heard Megan Reeve's voice. Three words. Megan…Help us…_

_The darkness finally won and wrapped him in a comforting blanket of unconsciousness as he heard Don call out his name…_

David glanced up as Colby stirred and moaned quietly. David shushed him softly. "Hey, c'mon, buddy, take it easy. _Easy_, big fella! C'mon, lie still, Col." Colby let out another groan and his eyes flickered open. He turned his head slowly towards the sound of David's voice. David stared into two blood-red eyes. The blow to Colby's head had caused minor haemorrhaging and his eyeballs were coated with a red layer that dulled the normally bright green eyes. David smiled warmly at his friend, his voice soft and reassuring. "Hey buddy! Welcome back! How ya feelin'?"

"Like I've been hit by a freakin' semi." Colby's voice was a hoarse whisper and filled with pain. "Oh, wait, hang on, I _was _hit by a freakin' semi!" He gave his partner a lopsided grin that turned into a grimace of pain.

"Take it easy, Col."

"Don…"

"…He's fine, bud. Few bruises and a couple of busted ribs, but he's gonna be just _fine_."

"Thank god…" Colby's eyes closed again and his breathing steadied. David let out a silent sigh of relief and patted Colby's shoulder. His friend's eyes opened again – he looked calmer now he knew that Don was alive. "Don tell ya what happened?"

"Yeah. You remember anything about the truck?"

"It was big?" Colby grinned again.

"Dude, just because you're harder to kill than a _New York fucking_ _cockroach_ don't mean this is a joking matter, brother!" Despite his pretend annoyance at his partner's flippancy, David felt an almost overwhelming sense of relief to see a touch of colour start to return to Colby's cheeks. "Don told me what you did. Getting him out of the car like that."

"Pure adrenaline, buddy. I promise ya. You'da done the same."

David nodded. "Goes with the job, right?" He smiled.

"You got it."

David sat back and sighed. "Okay, Col. Any ideas who our homicidal trucker might've been?"

"Man, all I remember was hangin' on for dear life when we went through that barrier. But someone knew we were on that road. Someone _knew _we were at the beach with Dee…oh…_SHIT! DEE!_" Colby struggled to sit up, gritting his teeth against the pain and making the monitor bleep urgently. For the second time that morning, David had to move quickly to stop a friend from doing themselves any further damage.

"For _fuck's sake_, Colby! What is _with _you guys?" He gently but firmly pushed his partner back onto the pillows. "You've just survived a goddamn car-wreck, dude! Just _lie still, _for the love of God, Granger! For all you know, that crazy bitch was probably _driving _the damn truck!"

"Dave, she's in trouble!"

"Col, she's…"

"…Scared, Dave, she's _scared_! Scared for her team, scared for everyone on that list, _including _me. Dave, listen to me, bud, please. She's_ not the bad guy here_! Look. There's a black Nokia phone in my jacket. I need you to go get it for me. "

"Don's already…"

"…Called _me._"

Diane Armstrong stood at the door of the room, flanked by two muscular men. David spun around and faced the three figures. Dressed in black fatigues and standing shoulder to shoulder, David felt a knot of dread twist inside his gut as he looked at the British ex-soldiers. It was like coming face to face with three really, _really _pissed off Dobermans – the wave of menace making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Colby felt David's fingers tense on his shoulder. He smiled inwardly to himself. Yeah. Coming face to face with three of the finest soldiers in the world _had _that kind of effect on people…

**_TBC…_**


	7. Reconciliation

Disclaimer

And now a word from my lawyers:

The author has nothing to do with Numb3rs. She has no jurisdiction over any of the regular characters featured therein, but does, however, own this story and the character of Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong.

That'll be $500 dollars please…

(Robbing bastards…)

Warning: This story contains occasional strong language and scenes of violence. Yeah. Like it's any more violent than a bloody cartoon…

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The woman, flanked by two of the most intimidating men David had ever seen in his life, stood impassively in the doorway, her vivid green eyes boring into his. But behind the steely gaze David could see something else – something he would have never expected to see in the eyes of the woman he considered to be one step short of all-out batshit crazy. Colby was right. She _was _scared. Scared and as _mad as hell. _That, in David's mind, took her that short step further…

"Phil, find Eppes's room. Nobody goes in or out without his express permission." The tall man gave a curt nod and silently stepped away down the corridor. Before she could say anything else, David stepped forward, putting himself between Diane and Colby, ready to defend his friend against what he assumed was the greater threat.

"You got one hell of a nerve showing up here, lady."

"What did you expect, David? Colby's hurt. Don's hurt. That's two more people who've been caught up in this who _shouldn't '_ave been. You think I want this to escalate like last time?" Her usually soft London accent had an edge to it, the words clipped and sharp.

"_You _were the one that _escalated _things, Diane! Not us!" David stepped forward again, but Colby grabbed his wrist.

"Hold up, Dave. Please." David turned and looked at his friend. Colby's eyes pleaded with him – "Hear her out, bud". The look that passed between them wasn't lost on Diane. She merely nodded at David.

"David?" Diane motioned to the corridor and turned her back. As she moved, she spoke quietly to the other man. "Micky? Keep an eye on Colby would you? Make sure he doesn't do anything daft like try and get up."

"That's what I've been trying to tell him," muttered David. He watched the man move effortlessly into the room. All three of the ex-soldiers seemed to have an almost cat like grace to their movements. He'd seen that kind of movement before – usually just before Colby had exploded like a hand grenade on some poor bastard he was chasing down…

Micky Cox grinned broadly at Colby. "Well. Don't _you _look like crap, old son?" Colby grinned back.

"Micky. Good to see you again, buddy!" The two men clasped hands warmly. David noticed that Micky was careful not to make any movement that could cause Colby any further pain. These lunatics really _did _seem to care about his partner…

He checked with his friend one last time. Colby gave him a 'I'll be fine' look and, still unsure, David followed Diane out into the corridor. He scanned the hall, momentarily confused. She seemed to have disappeared into thin air but suddenly he realised that a figure in black sat on one of the vinyl chairs, her shoulders hunched over as she stared listlessly at the floor. His approaching footsteps caught her attention and she slowly looked up at him. David could see the dark circles under her eyes – the woman obviously hadn't slept for days…

"Sit down, Dave."

"I prefer to stand."

"David, for Christ's sake will you just _sit down_? Please?"

Reluctantly, David sat next to her. "You know? Every time you show up, people die. Why is that, Diane? Huh?"

Diane didn't meet David's hard stare. Her voice was low, barely above a whisper and full of weariness. "David, I don't expect anything less from you than abject hatred, my friend. But this is bigger than your personal dislike of me, believe me. And truth be told, I _do_ actually _like _you, Sinclair. You're a _good _man. And a _bloody good_ agent." She looked at him. "And if Col says you're okay, that's good enough for me. What happened last time? I…look, I'm _sorry_. If there had been any other way to flush those bastards out, I would've taken it. I'm sorry I kidnapped you, I'm sorry I strapped a shit-load of C4 on you…Christ, David, I'm sorry _any_ of that crap ever happened in the first damn place! Now you are perfectly within your rights to take that and throw it back in my face, but to be honest, Dave? Right now? I really, _really _don't care. I don't care _what _you think about me. All I care about right now is keeping my team alive. I don't give a crap about what happens to me, but Colby, Micky, Phil and _everyone else _on that list is in danger and as much as you seem to think I'm some kind of sociopath nutcase, I _do care _about what happens to _them_, Dave. And Don. _And you_. And anyone else who's unlucky enough to get caught up in this shit-storm." She fell silent for a moment, lost in her own thoughts.

David stared at the woman. There was no way he would ever trust her completely, but her voice seemed so full of exhausted emotion that it stopped him in his tracks. "I ain't gonna throw it back at you, Diane, but that don't mean I've forgiven _nor _forgotten about it. I don't know what's happened to you in your past to make you the way you are and quite honestly? I don't _wanna _know. But I've got two friends badly hurt lying in hospital beds because some jackass tried to run them off the road with a goddamn semi. So if you know _anything _about this, Diane, now's the time to start talkin' to me, okay? Are we clear here?"

"Crystal." She ran a hand through her short, auburn hair.

"Okay. So let's start at the beginning. What the hell were you doin' in LA in the first place?"

"All of us retired from the army at around the same time, about five months ago. They said we could all stay on for another three years if we wanted to, but we'd all be in desk jobs or instructors at Hereford. Yeah. _Real _challenging. So we respectfully declined, saluted them, they gave us a crap load of medals for managing to stay alive for so long and escorted us to the gate. That was it. After 12 years. Nothing. Just, 'your country thanks you for your service and now would you mind buggering off please?'" She fell silent for a moment and then turned to David, her eyes clouded and weary. "I've never been so damn scared as when I walked out of the garrison for the last time. I had no idea how to operate in the outside world, David. I'd followed orders for 12 years. Everything seemed so simple in the army. Out here?" She glanced around. "You have any idea how difficult it is for people like us to find work after spending 12 years in that kind of environment?"

"Yeah. Tough. I know. Spare me the sob story, Di."

Diane smiled sadly to herself. "It's not a sob story, David. I had offers, we all did. Offers we didn't care for."

"Such as?"

"Freelancing."

David frowned. "What, as in…"

"…As in being hired guns for tinpot dictators in countries nobody's ever heard of and fighting their dirty little wars for them. The old fashioned term is mercenary."

David's reply was heavy with sarcasm. "Huh. And that didn't appeal to you, right?"

Diane's eyes hardened and the edge in her voice returned. "No, David, it _didn't appeal to me!_ I gave 12 years of my life fighting for queen and country, my friend! For principles I _believe _in, ya know? Truth? Justice? The defeat of terrorism? The same damn principles Colby believes in, the same damn principles _you _believe in, pal! No matter what you _think _you know about me, mate, I _don't _gun down innocent civilians for money just because some power-crazed lunatic tells me to! I'm a _professional soldier_, Sinclair. You _got that?" _

David realised he had touched a raw nerve. She might have her own way of doing things, but give her that - she _was _technically one of the good guys. Despite what he thought of her as a person, he finally understood a little more about her motives. "Okay, I'm sorry. That was…"

"…A little judgmental?" Diane raised an arched eyebrow at him, but then sighed and shook her head wearily. "No, I understand why you would think that. MI6 tried to recruit us as well, but the paperwork was ridiculous." She gave a brief flash of a smile. "You know us Brits. We love everything written out in triplicate." David couldn't help himself. He gave a small chuckle.

"Believe me, it's the same in the FBI."

"Oh, I doubt it, old son, I very much doubt it. Anyway, we were at a loose end and the pensions we all got just about kept us in beer and pizza for a week. About three months ago, I got a phone call from a contact over here. Said they were looking for a CP team to take care of some pop star."

"Babysitting? You took a _babysitting _job?"

"We prefer to call it close personal protection, David."

"Tomato, tomayto…"

"You've been hanging around too much with Granger, you know that?"

"He's a good person to hang around _with_, Diane. But I guess you already know that, right?"

"Colby and I go a long way back, David."

"Yeah, well maybe that's something we can talk about later. Right now…"

"…I know. On with the story, right?" She shifted in her seat and looked at the floor again. David frowned. Her body language told him of a woman that was running on pure adrenaline, caffeine and very little else. "Anyway, the money they were offering us was bloody good, better than we could've got anywhere else. Plus it seemed like a pretty easy gig – just some airhead popstar, ya know?"

"Oh, yeah. I know." David rolled his eyes. Diane glanced up and smiled briefly again.

"You've met her, then." David nodded and grimaced. "Yeah, _tell_ me about it! We arrived and were given our instructions, ya know, general…_babysitting _duties. Her manager had fired her previous team over some imagined slight, god alone knows what, we didn't ask. Up until the other night, everything seemed fine, if a little tedious. Like I said, you've _met _her, right?"

David looked at her. "Why did you all go dark as soon as Gary was shot?"

Diane's eyebrow arched again. "Go _dark_? My word, Colby _has _taught you well! We went _dark, _David, because things hadn't been adding up for a little while. Little things. You know. You see, I always like to know who exactly I'm working for. So I did a little bit of digging on our pop star and her agent. Destiny Bowyer is exactly what she seems, a vapid, spoilt little brat who happens to be able to gyrate and grind her way into the limelight. But Peterson?" She shook her head. "He's the real brains behind the whole operation _and _he was the one who hired us directly. Said we'd come highly recommended."

"By whom?"

"That's what I'd like to know. This geezer has more fingers in more pies than Jack fuckin' Horner, mate."

David looked momentarily confused. "Excuse me?"

"Tentacles everywhere, Sinclair. The man has a contacts book that would make your hair stand on end. He doesn't just look after pop stars and actors. The scumbag's got all kinds of ringers on his books."

Again, David looked puzzled. "Um, _ringers?_"

"Am I going to have to buy you a bloody dictionary? Villains, buddy, villains. He looks after at least two Mafia bosses, a collection of gang leaders and several Eastern European bastards who are _known _arms dealers."

David's eyes widened. "You're _kidding _me?"

"David, this is the twenty first century, mate. The age of the publicist. Even criminals have agents these days. Think about it. Who has the kind of contacts that he has? The man represents the _mayor_, for Chrissake! If you were in 'business', who would you talk to? Apart from a dodgy lawyer, that is?"

David nodded. "I see your point. So you think that one of these people got Peterson to bring you and your team over so they could take pot shots at you?"

"Possibly. Might be worth talking to him, ya know?"

David pulled out a notebook and quickly scribbled down a few memos to himself. "Okay." He flipped the notebook closed and paused, studying the cover of the book for a moment, trying to think of the next thing to say to the woman. "Diane, listen." He looked directly at her. "I can't pretend that all that crap didn't happen six months ago. And I know that it's a lot more complicated than perhaps I thought it was. But you pull any kinda stunt and I'm gonna come down on you so freakin' hard it'll make your head spin, okay? You ain't in the army any more, lady. You're a civilian. Which means you follow _our _rules now. Which means no blowin' shit up, no kidnapping and no goddamn gunfights in the middle of LA, you got that? Trust me. I won't even _blink_ nailin' your ass if you pull any of that shit, I don't care _what _kinda relationship you've got with Colby. And if anything happens to him or Don…"

"Don't threaten me, David. Don't you _ever _threaten me where Colby's concerned, okay?" Suddenly, the weariness had vanished from her voice and a chilling iciness replaced the tiredness of before. David stared at her.

"You really _do _care about him, don't you?"

Diane was silent for a second. "More than you'll ever know…"

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Colby glanced nervously at the door. Micky noticed the look and grinned. "Don't worry, mate. She's in no mood to go all lone gunman in the belltower on anyone's arse today." He pulled up a chair and sat down. "So, old son. Wanna tell me what happened here?"

"Mick, I don't know. Really. Some son of a bitch ran me and my boss off the road with a semi. What I _do _wanna know is how they knew we were there in the first place."

Micky Cox frowned. "Look, nobody except us knew about the meeting you had with Dee. Who your end knew?"

"Just Don. And he was with me the whole time."

"How did you arrange the meet?"

"Diane called me. Told me to meet her in the old place."

Micky frowned again. "She used her old phone for that. Hmm…"

"Mick?"

"Well, at that point we didn't realise we'd been compromised. She got the text from Terry _after _she agreed to meet you. So someone must've been listening in on that phone. Someone who _knew _your old meeting place."

Colby shook his head. "Nope. Only Dee and I knew that."

"Obviously _not,_ buddy. Someone else knew. C'mon, Granger. Think. Who else? A handler from your time with the Company? Someone from Amber Room? Connect the dots here, mate." Micky looked intently at his old friend. "Col, you and her were the best in the business at this shit. Means you've made yourself a whole crapload of enemies along the way. Terry and Gary are already dead and frankly, Col, I really don't wanna join that list, nor do I wanna see you dead either. But someone does, someone who _knew _about that meet." Micky fell silent, letting Colby think.

Colby lay back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "The only thing I can think of was that someone has been watching us since Gary died."

"You noticed anyone?"

"No. Doesn't mean there hasn't been. You guys went off grid as soon as Gary died, but I didn't. Makes sense that they must've been following me, not you guys." He screwed his eyes shut. "Shit. I led them straight to you!"

"Col, back up there, mate. How were you supposed to know this was gonna happen? You didn't even know we were in town until a couple of days ago! So this has all happened in the last few hours. None of us could've seen it coming. I told the boss that. She's beating herself up over it too."

Colby turned his head and looked straight at Micky. "Is she okay, Mick?"

Micky sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "You know her, Col. She's spent so many bloody years looking after the team that if anything happens, she takes it personally." Micky ran his hand through his short, blonde hair. "She's rattled, CJ. Never seen her so edgy. Not even in Kosovo…"

Colby's eyes widened. "Kosovo…shit! That's it! Terry died in Pristina, right?"

"Yeah. About 12 hours ago."

"Who was he supposed to be meeting?"

"I don't know. But he said that they had information on Gary's shooter and Amber Room. Where you going with this, Col?"

"We need to know who that contact was, buddy. We need to know _now."_

"I can contact Rob Maynard. He flew back to the UK with Terry. Danny Clarke is en route to Afghanistan, so it'll be bloody difficult to contact him. Rob's our best bet."

"See if he can track back over Terry's intel. And Mick? Can you _please _get me a goddamn phone?"

Micky grinned. "I _could_, but here's the thing, Col. I do that? Means you're getting your arse involved. And currently, old son, you're not in the best shape to go chasing down killers, really, are you? Besides, I let anything happen to you, Diane'll put my bollocks through a wringer!"

Ignoring the pain, Colby leaned forward and grabbed Micky's jacket, pulling him close. "Micky, you get me a goddamn phone or _I'll _put your bollocks through a wringer, we clear?" He could barely keep his lips from twitching into a grin and put his best 'I ain't kidding here' face on. Micky grinned.

"You tell her where you got it and I'll deny everything."

"Sneaky bastard."

"Stubborn bloody yank! 'Ere. What 'appens if I do this?" Lightning fast, Micky jabbed a finger into Colby's side. Colby collapsed back onto the pillow with a grunt of pain and clutched at his side.

"You _bastard! _What in the hell did you do _that _for?" Colby gasped.

Micky grinned again. "Provin' a point, old son." He laid a gentle hand on Colby's shoulder and the mischievous grin vanished, replaced by a serious look. When he next spoke, his voice was soft and full of concern. "Col, mate, you're hurt. Face it. You let me and the team take this one, okay? Sorry 'bout the finger thing there but sometimes? You can be the most stubborn, pig-headed berk on God's green earth, Granger! I'll get you a clean phone, but you're staying here until the doctors say otherwise, okay? Have you _seen _that gash on your head? Because seriously, I'd pay good money to see you try and stand up right now without falling flat on your arse!" He smiled kindly at his old friend. "You're one of us, mate. Always have been. And you know us, Colby. We look after our own. So for once in your life, just let someone _else _take care of things and concentrate on getting back on your feet. You can buy me a beer afterwards."

Colby grinned. "Okay, but promise me one more thing."

"Which is?"

"Promise me you'll stop David and Diane from killing each other?" Colby grinned lopsidedly at his friend. Micky glanced into the corridor and saw David Sinclair deep in conversation with his boss.

"I think they've kinda reached an understanding, buddy. After all, we're all on the same side here, right?" Micky patted Colby's shoulder reassuringly and glanced around the room. "'Ere! Why aren't there any bloody grapes?"

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Phil Mountbatten stood guard at the door, his expert eyes scanning everyone who walked past Don Eppes's room. Megan threw the man a nervous look and then glanced back at Don. "So you've got a _bodyguard_ now?"

Don smiled at Meg. "Seems I've got _two_, Meg."

"Yeah, but…"

"Look, until we know more about what's happening here, I'm actually quite happy to have an ex-SAS soldier standing guard in my room. Someone tried to kill me and Colby this morning, Meg, and right now we have no idea who or why."

"This is something to do with Granger's past again, isn't it?"

"Yes." Don sighed. "Poor bastard. It just won't leave him alone, will it? Phil's said that David is talking to Diane. Perhaps we'll know more from David once he's finished that conversation."

Meg gave a small smile. "I'd love to be a fly on the wall for _that _particular encounter, Don."

"David's smart enough to put his personal feelings aside, Meg. He…" Don was interrupted by David coming into the room. Diane appeared briefly at the doorway and spoke quietly to Phil, who merely nodded in response. The two ex-soldiers moved away from the door, their quiet conversation continuing out of earshot of the FBI agents. David glanced back, shrugged and then turned to Don. He quickly brought him up to speed with the conversation he had had with the Englishwoman.

"Okay, so it looks like Nathan Peterson deserves a closer look, Don."

"Fine. Take Meg with you. Don't mention Armstrong's team yet. Go in on the pretence that we still think the target was Destiny Bowyer. Meg? See if you can crawl inside his head, sweetheart."

"That could be messy."

"You can always take a shower afterwards. Just see if you can get any more information about him. Give your results to Charlie, see if he can find any patterns between known associates of Diane and Colby, anyone connected with this Amber Room operation and…"

Again, Don was stopped in mid sentence as Agent Ian Edgerton leaned casually against the doorframe, a small smile on his lips. "Heard you had a fight with a semi and lost, Eppes!" He pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled in to the room, nodding in greeting at Megan and David. Don smiled, although he always felt slightly uncomfortable in Ian's presence…

"Hey Ian, waddya say, buddy?"

"Need some help?"

"Could always use an extra pair of hands."

"Well, seeing as you and Colby are both out of action for a while, guess it's up to us then, huh?"

"Well, there _are _three other people to consider, Ian." Megan nodded towards the door where Diane and Phil still talked quietly. Ian followed Megan's nod and looked at the two figures dressed in black. He raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"Yeah. _This _could be interesting…"

"Ian, does the name Operation Amber Room mean anything to you?"

Ian looked sharply at Don, a frown creasing his brow. "Amber Room? You're kidding me?"

"No, why?"

Ian didn't answer Don's question but looked again at the two British soldiers. "Yeah. That explains a _lot_…"

**_TBC…_**


	8. Closer to Home Part One

Disclaimer

I, wot writ this 'ere story, own absolutely _bugger all _to do with Numb3rs. I have no jurisdiction over the characters, content story, hell, I don't even own the DVDs! I _do_, however, own this 'ere story and the warped and twisted character of Diane Armstrong (nee Alex Carter). Them's allllllllllll mine…

Warning. This story contains scenes of violence and some adult language. It's probably milder than the stuff 5-year-olds watch on TellyTubbys but hey, them's the rules. You have been warned…

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Don watched Ian Edgerton closely, a frown creasing his bruised and bloodied brow. "Ian? Ya know, judging by your reaction, I'm guessing…"

"…Keep guessing, Eppes. What is it they say about conjecture being the mother of all fuck-ups?" Ian pursed his lips and crossed his arms, his body language shutting down all notion of further discussion about the situation. That didn't satisfy Don. Not by a long shot…

He shifted in his hospital bed, wincing as his ribs reminded him that moving wasn't such a bright idea after all. He waved Ian's offered hand of help away and struggled to sit upright, scowling with determined concentration, each movement sapping a little more of his already diminishing energy reserves. He was desperately tired. The painkillers he had been force-fed by the efficient but somewhat surly nurse had made him feel lightheaded and leaden limbed. He _hated _the sensation of helplessness that threatened to overwhelm him. He _hated _the way his three agents were all looking at him – the weakened boss of a team that had no idea what was going on.

Ian took the brunt of Don's frustration with stoic reserve. He waited until the man had settled again into a more comfortable position. Finally, Don let out a grunt and leaned back, finding some comfort. He stared hard at Ian; impatient for an answer that was a little more forthcoming than a side-stepped 'it's classified' response. He knew the basics about Amber Room from what Colby had told him before the semi had run them off the edge of a damn cliff, but Ian's reaction had rattled him. Two of the best agents in the FBI had this complicated and secret past that he wasn't part of yet had managed to impact on all their lives not once, but twice. It annoyed the _hell _out of him… "Well? And don't give me any more of that 'it's classified' crap, Ian, okay? Colby told me about the operation before we went offroading, so I know what it was all about. And the fact that some son of a bitch tried to kill two federal agents puts it firmly on _our _desk, buddy, are we clear on that?"

"Colby told you?"

"Yep."

"Then you know that this is all linked back to what happened with him and Diane six months ago."

"Your point?"

"It goes back much further than that, Don. This is way more complicated than you can possibly realise." Ian sighed. "I need to talk to Col." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, all eyes following his progress. Megan raised an eyebrow.

"Well, _that _wasn't very odd at all…"

"Meg, you and David get back to the pen. I don't care _what _kind of favours you have to call in. I want everything you can get on this Amber Room operation. Get Charlie to help you go through the data, see if you can link any of the dots. You've got a rough description of the truck, there must be paint fragments on the fender of the SUV, that bastard hit us pretty hard. Find out what forensics have managed to scrape off what's left of the car. _Anything. _I want fuckin' answers!" He closed his eyes and leaned back on the pillows, sheer frustration twisting his guts into knots.

"Don, do you know how many big rigs there are in this part of California?" David glanced up from his notebook and looked at his boss. "We're looking for a needle in a haystack here. There's no CCTV cameras on that stretch of road…"

Don's eyes opened again. "There is where the road joins the on-ramp for the freeway. It was about six thirty. If he came off that road, there should be something around then." David nodded and flipped his notebook closed. Don's voice had an edge to it – now was not a time to start disputing the logistics of finding an invisible big-rig in a county full of the damn things. All they could pray for was a lucky break…

"You gonna be okay here, Don?"

Don smiled wearily at Megan. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I got me a bodyguard, remember?" He pointed at the black-clothed figure of Phil Mountbatten outside, still deep in conversation with Diane.

"Yeah, but how much do we know about them?"

"They're SAS, Meg. Like Colby said. Top of the foodchain. I doubt anyone'll be getting through that door any time soon."

Phil threw a glance into the room; had he heard Don's somewhat flippant description of him? For a brief second, Don locked eyes with the powerful Englishman. The hazel eyes that met his own were icy cold…

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"…So he's got this Taliban son of a bitch in his sights, right? And the bastard is running off down the road, screamin' as if all the bloody genies of Hell are on his arse. Chris freezes, god and all the angels know why, and the bugger's getting' away! So what does _she _do? She shoots him in the bloody arse cheek!" Micky threw another grape in the air and caught it in his mouth with a snap. Grinning and chewing on the grape, he giggled and patted Colby's shoulder. "But does this slow him down? Oh no, my friend, like hell it does! The sod doesn't stop! He's just keeps on runnin' down the road, one hand clutching his bum and him yodelling his head off for Allah! So Dee gets really pissy by this time and shoots him in the other cheek, out of spite, like! Now he's hopping all over the road like a bleedin' rabbit, both hands clamped on his arse, yellin' for his mum but _still _runnin'! So you know Di, she takes this as a personal insult, right? I mean, c'mon, she's given the berk two new holes in his arse to think about and he _still _won't quit!" Up went another grape. "So she shot him in the knee. Went down like a sack of shit, mate!" Micky let out a good humoured laugh and held the bag towards the chuckling American. "Grape?"

"Man, you know you're freakin' _killin' _me here, right?" Colby had laughed so hard at the image of Diane shooting a Taliban in the arse twice that his sides had protested in pain. "And where in the _hell _did you find those grapes?"

"Ah, the resourcefulness of the Regiment, my old mucker!" Micky leaned in conspiratorially towards his friend. "I knicked 'em from the bloke next door." He sat back, pressed a conspiratorial finger against his lips and grinned.

"Dude, that's just…_wrong_!" Colby couldn't help it. He laughed again and immediately wished he hadn't.

"_What_? The guy's in a bleedin' _coma_! What the hell does he need with bloody grapes?" Micky grinned again and tossed a grape up into the air. A hand closed around the flying grape and in a split second the Englishman was on his feet, gun drawn, all trace of the easy-going banter gone in an instant. Ian froze, staring into the cold, professional eyes of a man who was easily as fast as he was on the draw and currently had the advantage in the shape of a Browning 9mm automatic. Standard British issue…

Ian, his fingers still holding the grape, took a slow and very careful step back, keeping his hands in plain sight. "Col? Wanna call off your attack dog here, buddy?"

"Micky, easy fella. This is Ian Edgerton. He's okay."

The snout of the Browning dropped instantly and Micky Cox raised an eyebrow. "Edgerton? _Ian_ Edgerton? As in _Hawkeye _Edgerton?" He put the gun away and grinned. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Bud, you didn't even give me a chance! Want your grape back?"

"Nah. Keep it. Too many of the damn things gives me the shits anyway." Micky glanced at Colby. "You want a minute?"

"Please, Micky."

"I'll be outside."

"Dude?" Micky paused and turned back to his old friend. Colby wagged a finger at the Englishman. "No more fruit larceny, okay?" Micky grinned broadly, winked and was gone. Ian watched the man leave the room and turned back to Colby, a surprised expression on his face.

"You actually _know _that guy?"

"Micky Cox. Ex SAS. One of the best damn techs you'll ever meet and one of my oldest friends. How ya doin' Ian?"

"Back at ya, Col. You look like crap."

"Oh, this?" Colby shrugged and instantly regretted it. "Hey, I've had worse…" His voice was strained and hoarse. He managed a lopsided smile at Ian, but the pain was obvious. Ian stood and studied the man. Colby had proven himself time and time again as a resourceful, highly capable and brave man. But Ian could tell he was worried…

"So. Amber Room, huh?" Ian pulled up a chair and sat down. "I thought all that died out six months ago."

"So did I, buddy. Seems I was wrong."

"So a copy of the list _did _get out?"

"Lookin' more and more likely." Colby's answers were short and efficient. He knew Ian had the clearance to know about the operation, so finally he could be candid. "When me and Dee took out Frank Dicks at Langely six months ago, we thought that the leak had been sealed. Our people did a full investigation, Ian, they went over everything with a fine toothed comb, bud, and no mistaking. The Brits shut down the Kosovo and Kabul ends and we thought we'd closed down the LA operation. The NSA and CIA actually worked together on that one and three people were arrested at the Pentagon and got the express train to Gitmo. Last I heard they were pencilled in as some of the last to be moved out when the place shuts down. I know one of them got extraordinary rendition and is currently in a holding cell in Morocco. Bet _that's _a barrel of fun…" Colby shifted again – the pain in his side making it almost impossible for him to find relief or a comfortable position. Ian waited patiently until Colby settled again. Colby finally stilled and seemed lost in thought for a minute, his green eyes still bloodshot and sore looking. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead – it was obvious to Ian that the conversation was taxing the younger man, but typical Colby – he carried on anyway…

"Look, Ian. The guys ain't prepped up for this kinda thing. David, Meg and Don are runnin' blind and right now, I can't do fuck all to help." The frustration was clear in Colby's voice. "I try and stand up and I'll probably pass out on the spot. I need you to take the lead on this one, Ian. From _our _end, ya know?"

Ian nodded. He knew exactly what Colby meant… "You want me to get in touch with Langley?"

"Bud, they probably already know but yeah, if you wouldn't mind?"

Ian smiled. "Of course I don't. Listen, Col…" He glanced out into the corridor, leaned in closer to Colby and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. "These Brits. I know you trust Diane and Micky too, but…"

"…Phil?" Colby's voice had dropped as well. "Yeah, him I _don't_ know. He came into the regiment after me and Diane had that problem in Pristina." Colby frowned. "Why do I get the feelin' that we're missing something here, Ian? Something really obvious?" He shook his head. "I dunno. Somethin's botherin' me, man. About this morning."

"How they knew about your meet?"

"Well, yeah, that and…"

"And what?"

Colby was silent for a moment. Finally he spoke, again, his voice barely audible. "Why didn't they just kill us all on the beach? Why go through all that crap with the truck? And if they are trying to tie up some _loose ends_, how come they didn't take a shot at Dee when she was sat on the beach by herself?"

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London was its usual damp, overcast self. The evening twilight gave a sickly blue-grey cast to the tired faces of the commuters as they stood listlessly on the cracked pavements, waiting for buses that, already packed to capacity, merely sailed on past them. The queues of stoic pedestrians sighed collectively and patiently waited for the next one.

Rob Maynard moved effortlessly through the throngs of Londoners and deliriously happy Japanese tourists, his years of training enabling him to do so without suffering the usual jostling and shoulder-barging that lesser mortals were subjected to on the packed pavements.

He was being followed.

He'd suspected it about fifteen minutes earlier. Rob had 'drilled' twice; altering his path and taking sudden turns and twists in his journey, just to make sure. Yep. They were following him all right. They were fair to average at their job – MI5, possibly 6. Rob couldn't be certain, but he was in no mood to find out. He didn't want to get tangled up with British security services right now. They'd probably just end up getting themselves - or worse - _him_ killed in the process…

Robert Paul Maynard was six foot four and built like a brick shit-house, as Diane had so eloquently put it once. His cropped, dirty-blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and dazzling, ready smile turned plenty of lady's heads over the years but right now? He craved anonymity. He ducked quickly into the entrance of Oxford Circus tube station and trotted down the steps to the ticket area. Swiping his pass on the electronic barrier, he pushed through the crowds and made his way down to the district line platform. It was just a few short stops to Bank and then onto the Docklands Light Railway line to Crossharbour, in the heart of London's East End. He had an appointment to keep…

Rob walked quickly towards the platform, ignoring the armed Police officers that scanned the crowds for suspicious looking young men with backpacks. The UK was still on high terror alert. He walked through the archway and onto the packed platform, confronting a solid wall of tired commuters all desperate to get home without getting mugged, blown up or, God forbid, having to make eye contact with their fellow passengers. They all fervently prayed that they would be spared the ultimate horror – having to make polite conversation with a stranger… Rob smiled quietly to himself. London hadn't changed much in the years that they'd been away. Quiet fear tempered with a resigned acceptance of the drudgery of day to day life kept the average person in their place. They weren't living – they were just _surviving…_

A push of foetid air indicated the approach of the train and a collective signal telepathically rippled through the crowd in the form of a single step forward. Rob found himself at the edge of the platform and quickly scanned in both directions, his stature giving him a clear view above most of the heads of the other commuters. Yep. Two from the east entrance, two from the west. Four-man surveillance team. Definitely SIS…

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. It wasn't the presence of the four security officers, probably SO19, which raised his hackles. It was the uncomfortable presence of the crush of bodies behind him. The rumble of the approaching train increased in volume and Rob saw the nose of the driver's cab poke through the tunnel. The train was still moving quickly but the squeal of metal on metal suggested that the ancient brakes had been applied. He watched the red livery of the car trundle towards him…

A sharp push in his back toppled him forward and for a split second he fought frantically to regain his balance. It didn't work. He fell onto the track as the train driver's face took on a look of absolute horror and he hauled desperately on the brake lever. A loud scream from a woman who had been standing next to Rob shattered the normally silent crowd and yells of panic and shouts of "Christ! Is he okay?" filled the air. The four security officers immediately drew their weapons and pushed through the throngs, trying to get to Rob. The train screamed into the station, sparks flying from the wheels as the driver prayed to whomever was the patron saint of commuters that the man would survive the impact. He knew in his heart that the poor bastard wouldn't…

Rob grunted as the hard metal of the track made contact with his spine, but he instinctively rolled into the gap underneath the platform missing the crushing metal wheels by millimetres as they screeched past him. The stink of hot metal filled his nostrils, along with the musty odours of the tracks and the litter and dust that swirled in the air currents created by the train. Above him he could hear shouts and people calling down to him, trying to see if he was still alive. Londoners might be reluctant to help their fellow man on a day to day basis, but they still cared if someone got into real trouble. For a brief moment Rob's faith in humanity was restored. But then he could hear the sharp commands of the security officers as they forced the crowds back. One of them was yelling at the driver to move the train back so they could get to Rob. That was exactly what Rob _didn't _want…

He rolled out onto the track and underneath the train, carefully avoiding the live rail and over to the opposite side. Pressing his bruised back up against the wall, he quickly trotted back along the length of the train to the tunnel entrance. Taking a last glance back, he ran into the blackness of the tunnel and made his escape from the over-anxious security officers and whoever had just tried to kill him...

The driver eventually managed to pull the train back a few feet and the security officers jumped down, expecting to find a mangled body. There was nothing. No body, no blood, nothing. The man had simply vanished. "Shit!" One security officer swung a wild punch in the air in frustration. "This bastard's good…" He pulled out a phone and hit a speed-dial number. "It's me. He got away. Someone tried pushing him under a train. No…he's alive…How the hell would I know where he is?" The security officer glanced down the platform, the phone pressed to his ear. "He's one of Armstrong's lot. I'm sure it's Maynard." He looked at his partner and shook his head. "Look. We've got about two hundred people down here all staring at us. You _really_ want us to do a fuckin' Menezes on this or wot? Because the press'll be all over the fact that there's four SIS guys standing on Oxford Circus tube station holding their guns in one hand and their fuckin' _dicks _in the other!" He snapped the phone closed angrily and motioned to his companions. They pushed their way quickly through the crowd and disappeared into the night…

**_TBC….._**


	9. Closer to Home Part Two

Disclaimer.

Seriously. I mean, c'mon, we've been through this _how _many times? I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. Really. You can check and everyfink… I do, however, own this story and the character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter. That I'm sure of…

Warning: This story contains some scenes of violence and adult language. I'd substitute the word 'fudge' for the various cusses, but ya know? It _just wouldn't read right…_

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_Helmund Province – Afghanistan…_

The sand-coloured building exploded in a devastating blast, the screams of dying men and sniper fire ripping through the air. Danny Smith felt a hand grab the back of his collar and haul him unceremoniously backwards behind a low, pockmarked wall and into the dirt and dust. He stayed low, shielding his head from the bullets that tore around him like angry bees. His companion grinned broadly at him, his teeth dazzling white against the urban cami-paint that smeared his face. "Bet you're seriously glad you took that economy tour package option, huh Smithy?"

"When I get back, I'm havin' serious speaks with my travel agent, my friend. This is _not _what it promised in the bloody brochure! I mean, there isn't even a damn buffet!" Both men sprang up and aimed their L115A3 sniper rifles at what was left of the building. Both men were expert marksmen and they picked off the Taliban insurgents with ease. "Corner, northern end."

"I see him."

The Afghani never stood a chance…

The two men ducked back behind the wall and sat with their backs to the sandy coloured mud bricks, the stench of cordite, fear and death filling their nostrils. Danny checked his rifle, puffing his cheeks out and running a hand through his cropped, dark hair. His companion turned to him with a puzzled expression on his face. "Dan, exactly what are you after in that mud hut over there, old son? I mean, don't get me wrong; we're always grateful to have one of our own back on the team as you well know, but…"

"It's a long story, Mark."

"This got something to do with Dee?"

Danny threw a sharp look at Mark. "What makes you say that?"

"Oh, c'mon Danny, it's not exactly…_**INCOMING**_!" The men ducked as an RPG screamed overhead and exploded in a bombed-out building to their left. Mark glowered briefly at the inferno that was once someone's home, as if he had been interrupted by a rather rude remark made by a buffoon at a dinner party…"_As I was saying_, it's not hard to join the dots up, Dan. The regiment got a call from Dee a few days ago asking for permission for you to come in. They radioed us, told us to expect you on the next flight from Brize Norton. And here you are, mucker, large as life and twice as fuckin' ugly. So what's in that building that you've got a squad of us risking our arses for?"

"Amber Room."

"Shit…"

"Like I said, Mark, it's a long story. Shall we go to work here?" Danny's companion nodded and on a count of three, they hopped over the wall and sprinted to the side of the shattered building that now had all the appearance of an old, rotten tooth. Hollow walls threatened to collapse at any second, and Danny was momentarily concerned that a kick to the flimsy door would bring the whole shell of a building crashing down around him. He chanced it…

Automatic gunfire met their entrance and in quick succession Mark and Danny took out the last remaining resistance in the building. Mark dropped back, speaking quickly into a radio to inform his colleagues that the building was clear. The fighting didn't stop, though. It just moved to the next, bullet-riddled urban booby-trap. But that was fine as far as Danny was concerned. Mark had his back. It gave him the chance to go through the building and find what he was looking for…

Sifting through the rubble, he found an old wooden box, scorched by incendiary devices but still intact. He cracked the ancient padlock with the butt of his rifle and the metal parted with little resistance. Crouching in front of the open box, he quickly sorted through the papers inside. There was plenty in here that would keep the regiment happy for the next few weeks. Intel on Taliban supply lines, positions and even communiqués between the forces on the ground and the leadership – all pure gold intelligence to the British and American armed forces fighting a dirty, nasty war in the middle of a hellhole like this. Danny saw it as payment to the regiment for letting him come back in on the ground, and they'd be more than happy with this little nest egg. A buff coloured file caught his eye and he pulled it out of the box, briefly shaking it as he held tight to one corner to shift the dust and debris off the surface of the paper. Leaning his rifle against the box, he opened the file. A red 'TOP SECRET' stamp was emblazoned across the top. The printed page was a list of names, units, positions, locations…"Shit. She was right…" Danny quickly snapped the file closed and unzipped his jacket, pushing the file into an inside pocket. He zipped his jacket back up and slammed the lid closed on the wooden box, tucking it under one arm as he slung his rifle over his shoulder. Mark's face popped around a crumbling doorway.

"Time to vacate the premises, old son. Airstrike comin' in in three." Danny nodded at Mark and they trotted to the doorway, scanning the deserted street for snipers. Mark muttered quickly into a radio. "Exiting primary. Covering fire please gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind."

"_Roger that."_

Renewed gunfire gave them the cover they needed to get out of the building and run back to their previous vantage point, bullets sending up clouds of dust in sharp puffs as they embedded themselves in the ground around them. Mark swore colourfully, dived over the wall and angrily clicked on the radio talk button. "Call that bloody covering fire, you fuckin' _amateurs_? WILSON! Get your team _out!_ Airstrike imminent!"

"_Sir!"_

Mark threw a glance at Danny and grinned. "Don't make 'em like our generation any more, Dan, even in the regiment!" He let out a laugh as two F-15 American fighters screamed overhead, their bombs whistling into the buildings and exploding with a force that made both men dive for cover. "BLOODY YANKS! THAT WAS NEVER THREE FUCKIN' MINUTES, YOU ARSEHOLES!" Mark glared at the retreating planes. "Seriously, Dan, whose frickin' side are they on anyway?"

Danny laughed, more out of relief than amusement. They had cut it bloody close, that was for sure. Another few seconds and there was a damn good chance that it could have ended in a 'friendly fire' incident. "They're on _our _side, Mark. Dee's even got Colby Granger working with her over in the States."

"Well, bugger me! Captain Granger? Damn, that's the first bit of good news I've had today. Okay then, what's in the box, Smith?"

Danny waggled the box in the air with a grin. "Yer gonna love this, my friend. 'Ere, catch. He tossed the box to Mark who caught it deftly. " It's Christmas and your fuckin' birthday all rolled into one, old son!"

Mark sorted quickly through the contents of the box and smiled broadly. "You little _beauty_, Diane!" He glanced up. "How the _hell _did she know?"

"Mate, you know her. If this was the sixteenth century, they'd burn the bitch at the stake!"

"Thank goodness we live in more enlightened times, huh?" Mark glanced around at the devastation that surrounded them. "And yes, I _do _realise the irony of that comment, my friend, given our present circumstances. You get what you were looking for?"

The smile faded from Danny's lips. "Oh yes. I most certainly did. And honestly, Mark? On that score, I wish to _hell _that she'd been wrong…"

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David Sinclair paced the waiting room of Nathan Peterson impatiently. Meg watched her friend. It didn't take a degree in psychology to tell he was agitated. "David? You okay?"

"Fine." He continued to pace. "This guy does actually know there's two FBI agents waiting to talk to him about a murder case, right?" The question was directed at the blonde receptionist. She glanced up, a look of disdain on her face. Megan frowned. Beneath the disdain, she could sense something else...

"Mr Peterson is a _very_ busy man, Agent Sinclair. Unless you have an appointment…"

"Sure, yeah, because that's how the FBI works, right? By _appointment_." David's voice had a sharp edge to it. "Listen. Your boss asked _us _to look into this case. And that's what we're doing. Looking into it. Did he think that would mean that we wouldn't come knocking at his door at some stage?"

"I fully expected you to, Agent." A suave, suited businessman appeared in the doorway to the office. "I just didn't expect_ junior_ agents to be taking the case. I was told one of your top men would be handling this. Where's Special Agent Eppes?"

Megan stood up before David could respond. She knew his hackles were up already and the crack about junior agents hadn't gone down well. "Agent Eppes is indisposed right now, Mister Peterson. I'm Special Agent Reeves, this is Special Agent Sinclair." She flashed her badge at the man. The steely look in her eyes made it quite clear that he was dealing with _senior _agents, not wet-behind-the-ears freshmen. "Shall we?" She indicated to his office and he graciously stepped aside.

The office was lined with signed photos of smiling stars, gold records and other showbiz memorabilia. The office of a Hollywood agent. Peterson walked to the plush leather chair behind the glass-topped desk and sat down, studying the agents. "So. Are you people any further along with this? Any ideas who shot at Destiny?"

"Not yet. Do _you _have any idea who might want to kill her?"

"Just about anyone in the record industry, Agent Reeves. Half her entourage, probably. A demented fan? I thought that was your job, you know? The working out who pulled the trigger bit?"

David bit his bottom lip. He hated dealing with the Hollywood set. They were all so full of their own importance… "What about the security detail?"

"What about them?"

"You employed them, I believe?"

Peterson shrugged. "They came highly recommended. Brits make the best bodyguards, Agent Sinclair. Saves having to sacrifice a decent, hardworking American, don't you think?" David almost wished that Diane Armstrong had been in the room to hear _that _particular comment...

"Who recommended Alex Carter and her team?"

"I honestly can't remember. By the way, if you see her? Tell her she's in breach of contract, would you? As soon as she shows her limey ass, I'll be suing it."

"One of her team was _killed,_ Mister Peterson."

"Unfortunate, but goes with the job. That's what they're there to do, Agent Reeves. To stop some lunatic from putting a bullet in the most expensive back in the music industry."

David's eyes narrowed. "So how much is that back insured for, Mr Peterson?"

"More than you could possibly imagine."

"I find it difficult to believe that Carter's team came so highly recommended yet you claim you can't remember who actually told you about them, Mister Peterson."

"My assistant dealt with the matter."

"Really? Such an important matter as the protection of your most valuable asset and you let you _assistant _deal with it?"

"I asked her to sort out the details. She's remarkably efficient. Unlike our law enforcement agencies."

Megan stepped in before David could open his mouth. She knew how much he hated this world, and now was not the right time to antagonise one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. "Who recommended the team, Mister Peterson?"

"Let me think…of course." He snapped his fingers, pretending to recall the name. It didn't fool Megan. She had already managed to climb inside Nathan Peterson's head. She didn't particularly like what she was finding in there… "Nigel Winters. A British contact of mine. Organises protection teams in the UK. He has connections with the military, I believe. Hires ex-soldiers, marines, that kind of thing. Like I said. Despite their weird accents and bad teeth, the Brits are surprisingly good at their jobs. Very…_efficient_. Very thorough. _Usually_."

"And why were the original security team sacked?"

"Because they were incompetent. Seems to be a bit of a problem with protection teams these days." Peterson leaned forward. "Look. I'm sorry that one of them took the bullet, that was…unfortunate. But I have to admit, the publicity hasn't done Destiny any harm. Record sales are up, we've had a book offer from a publisher for her to tell her side of the story and the press are all over it." He leaned back. "It may not appeal to your delicate FBI sensibilities, but that's the harsh truth of this business, agents. People die. Everyone dies. If the spotlight's on you when it happens, well…" He shrugged again.

"I'm going to need a list of your contacts." Megan stared down the man. Peterson let out a short, sharp laugh.

"Not going to happen, I'm afraid. Do you have any idea how much some of my rivals would pay to get their hands on my contacts book?" He shook his head. "No, no, sorry. Not without a…"

"…Warrant?" David pulled out the piece of paper from his pocket. "Do-able." He slapped the warrant down on the desk. Peterson stared at it as if David had just put a hand grenade on the table. He looked up, momentary panic in his eyes. He masked it, but it was too late. Megan gave the man a small smile.

"I'm sure your list of starlets and pop singers will be perfectly safe with us, Mister Peterson. Or perhaps there's names in there you rather we didn't know about?" She raised an eyebrow. Peterson was cornered and he was sweating. David realised that Diane's hunch about him had been right. The man had connections that he preferred to keep to himself.

"I take it we see your assistant outside for the contacts list?" David stood up and smiled coldly. "Thank you for your co-operation, sir. Have a _nice _day." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the office. Megan smiled again, gave Peterson a 'what can you do?' shrug and followed her partner out.

David was already clutching a small, black leather book when Megan quietly closed the door on the office. He held it up for her to see. "Seems the lovely Michelle here has a habit of listening in on conversations, Meg." Meg glanced down at the blonde woman. She looked frightened…

As they turned to go, Megan felt a trembling hand on her shoulder. She turned and looked into the blue eyes of the receptionist. The girl leaned in close and whispered into Megan's ear. "Check behind the cover." Megan nodded and slipped a business card into the girl's hand.

"Call me." It was clear the girl wanted to tell them something…

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Ian strolled into the controlled pandemonium of the Bullpen and into the canteen area. The coffee dregs were almost cold, but he poured them into a cup anyway. "Hey Ian." He turned and looked into the concerned brown eyes of Charlie Eppes.

"Hey Charlie. Have you seen Don?"

"Yeah. Dad's with him at the moment. He told me to get here and start trying to put together what we've got."

"Well, I'm sorry, buddy, but it's not much at the moment." He patted Charlie gently on the shoulder and sat down. The professor ran a hand through his brown curls and sighed. Ian smiled kindly at the man. It was clear he was desperately worried about his brother. "We've got some techs scanning the CCTV footage from the freeway on-ramp to see if they can spot any killer trucks, but so far?" He shrugged.

"What about contacts? Anyone that may have a grudge against Diane and her team? Enough to try killing Don and Colby? Look, Ian, without some data I can't do anything. And I don't like not being to do anything to find out who tried to wipe my brother off the road, you know? I…I need _something_, Ian! Anything." He paced anxiously. "If I can get a list of everyone involved in Amber Room, perhaps I can use a data mining algorithm to…"

"Whoa, buddy, back up there. Who said anything about Amber Room?" Ian held a hand up, a frown on his face.

Charlie stopped his pacing and stared questioningly at the man. "Don. He said…"

"…I'm sorry, Charlie. I'm not at liberty to give you that kind of information."

"Ian, you _do _realise that I have NSA clearance?"

"Not at this level you don't."

"And so now…what…you're going to throw _semantics_ at me? Ian, we…"

David walked in and held Peterson's contact book up. "You need data, Charlie? Here you go." He tossed the book towards Charlie, who fumbled briefly before closing his hands around the book.

"Michelle, the receptionist, said something about looking behind the cover, Charlie. I had a look and there's a number grid there. Looks like someone played Sudoku. I'm guessing it's not, though."

Charlie peeled back the cover of the book and studied the number grid. "Well, you're absolutely right, Megan, it's not Sudoku." He glanced up and flashed a smile. "What it actually is is a Caesar cipher. Look. See how numbers one through ten are written normally? But if you look _here,_ you have a second set of one through ten written mirrored. And here? There's…yes, there's several numbers written horizontally."

"Twenty six numbers, twenty six letters."

"Exactly. Now most people think that unless you have the code, a Caesar cipher is impossible to crack, but it's not. There's always a hidden order…"

"…Such as one number occurring more than others, so it's a common letter like an 'e' or a 't'?" David paused. "I don't believe I just said that…"

"Right! Exactly. All I have to do is apply an algorithm to sort out the least random patterns, patterns that give us a clue as to what letters the most common numbers represent. That can detect the overall sequence of say just one word and give us the code to unlock the pattern." He looked up. David couldn't help but smile. Present Charlie with a math problem and the man took on a whole new persona.

"What about the names we _can _read?"

"Oh, that's not a problem. Basic graph theory should be able to help us build up a map of links between the various names in the book. That's…" Charlie let out a small laugh. "That's child's play. Anyone could do that." He looked around at the three agents. "What?"

"_Anyone_? Meaning even _we _should be able to manage that?" There was a light tone to Megan's voice and a sardonic smile on her lips.

"I didn't mean…I…I just…I can help you link the nodes more easily to see who knows whom and how they might fit into this. But you know what would _really _help? That Amber Room list, Ian." Charlie stared at Ian. "That way we might find correspondences between the two that could help us narrow down who's trying to kill Don and Colby. You know?"

David turned to the senior agent. "Waddya say, Ian? How 'bout that list?"

For a moment, silence descended over the group. Finally Ian spoke…"I have to make a phone call…"

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Rob Maynard put his hand onto the deserted tube station platform and swung himself off the rusting trackway. He dusted his hands and scanned the disused station. London was riddled with old tube stations that had long since been decommissioned and taken off the main routes. A rusting sign identified the station as Tower Hill. It had been disused since 1967, but was as close as Rob could get to the East End of London without going above ground. He pulled out a mobile phone and pressed it to his ear. "Change of plan. I'm at Tower Hill underground station. Meet me here." He snapped the phone shut and wandered over to a seat to sit down and wait. The peeling paint and smell of decay permeated everything and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. Oh well. Rob shrugged and settled down to wait. It was better than getting pushed under another train…

Half an hour later, echoing footsteps alerted Rob to the approach of his contact. He smiled broadly as the older man, suited and wearing a camel coloured coat, appeared from an entrance onto the platform. The man's lips twisted into an ironic smile. "Somewhat less salubrious than our designated meeting point, old chap. Have a spot of bother, did you?"

Rob stood up and shook the man's hand in greeting. "Yeah. Someone decided that my Voyager pass was invalid on the Central line. Tried to push me under the damn train. Any ideas who that might've been, Toby?"

Toby Jenkins shook his head. "Absolutely no idea, Robert. All I do know is that our friends in Six are rather pissed that you managed to evade four of their finest, though. Kicking up merry hell about it." He sat down on the crumbling bench next to Rob. "I take it Dee's gone DEFCOM one on this."

"We all have, Toby. I need something, my friend."

"Calling in a favour, are you?"

"Toby…"

Toby held a hand up. "Don't worry, Robert. After everything you and your team have done for us, we thought we might have to repay the debt at some time. Especially after the complete hash the Americans made of things six months ago."

"That wasn't their fault. They thought they'd shut the operation down their end. So did we. Danny's in Helmund now…"

"Yes. Colonel Bridgewater was most surprised to get _that _particular favour called in, I can tell you. But from what your people have said, Danny's completed his mission. He's safe and well."

Rob breathed a sigh of relief. "Well, thank fuck for that. First bit of good news I've had today." He sat forward, his hands clenched between his knees.

"You look like crap, old boy."

"Getting pushed under a tube train does that for a man, Toby." He looked up. "You said you had some information for me."

"Yes. And I'm afraid you're not going to like it, Robert." He reached into a pocket and pulled out an envelope. "This is what you asked me for. Tell me. What made you suspect him?"

"I don't know. Just…instinct, I guess."

"Dee trained you well."

"More like Granger did. His bloody sixth sense is better than hers!"

"Ah yes. The American. Rather decent chap, as I recall. He's working for the FBI now I understand."

"In a roundabout kind of way, yes." Rob took the envelope and opened it. He unfolded the document that was inside and quickly read the contents. Slowly, he folded it back up and pushed it into the torn envelope again, his fingers tense on the paper, creasing the corner from the pressure he exerted. "Shit…"

"We had our suspicions about him when he was in the regiment, Robert." Jenkin's voice dropped. "If we'd have known then what we know now…Well, maybe we would've looked a little closer to home for our traitor." He looked sympathetically at the tired and dirty ex-soldier. "I'm sorry, Robert, I really am. Seems like we've failed you on this one. As soon as he knows that Danny's got the genuine list back, he's going to go all out to get it from you. I promise you old man, you've got our full support. I'll call Six's dogs off, give you some room for manoeuvre. What about the Americans? Can they handle things their end?"

"Granger's bloody good, Toby. One of the best I've ever worked with. If anyone can keep this from going south, it's him."

"And if Granger can't? He'll know that Granger's on the list. There's a damn good chance he'll try and neutralise him at the earliest opportunity."

"Then Dee and Micky are sitting ducks, Toby. We _all _are." Rob glanced at the man, deep concern in his eyes…

**_TBC…_**


	10. Enemy Within

Disclaimer

A vastly over-paid legal team has instructed me that apparently I have to tell you lot that I have absolutely _nothing _whatsoever to do with Numb3rs. I don't run errands for the Scott brothers, I don't shift scenery, hell, I don't even live on the same damn _continent _as them. So I have no jurisdiction over the characters, the stories or anything else to do with this amazing programme.

I DO, however, own this 'ere story and the deeply flawed but inherently on-the-side-of-good-against-evil character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter (the little minx…) and my vastly over-paid legal team are standing by with writs, subpoenas and other Latin-based literature to sue the arse off anyone who says otherwise.

(Whisper! Whisper, whisper, WHISPER!) What? Oh, right. Also, I have to warn you that the story has scenes of violence and some strong language. Are we done? (Nods all round) Right, bugger off you lot and let me get on with writing, would ya? Ta…

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The white-hot pain of his shattered ribs had dulled to a background ache. Colby focused hard, willing the pain to become a natural part of his state of being, controlling it through sheer willpower. He'd had worse. Far, _far _worse than this. His green, bloodshot eyes opened again and he winced, not from the pain but from the sharp, white light that hurt his eyes. The blow to his head had increased his sensitivity to light and the glare from hard, blue-white fluorescent strip lights in the room was like knives cutting into his eyes. That too, he ignored. Lying here wasn't going to achieve anything. He glanced around the room – for the first time since he had been brought in he was on his own. He knew that his friends were close by, but finally he had a chance to get back on his feet on his own terms.

Colby Granger was a stubborn bastard. Something as insignificant to him as some broken ribs and a few cuts and bruises were no excuse for lying down on the job. People's lives were at stake. People he cared about. He _refused_ to be the weak link in this particular chain…

Very carefully and mentally blocking out each jab of pain from his side, he sat up, supporting his weight behind him by pushing his hands into the pillows. The temptation to just lay back and drift off into the blessed relief of sleep was almost overwhelming, but it could wait. Slowly and with each movement planned carefully before he made it, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, the sensation of the cold floor on the soles of his bare feet strangely soothing. The IV drip pulled at the skin on his arm and he reached back and disconnected it, releasing himself from the leash that had him tethered to the bed. He paused, catching his breath. Jesus, getting out of damn bed shouldn't be this difficult… His head swam for a moment and he took slow, deliberate breaths to try and clear the fog that descended into his brain. Warily, he put a little weight onto his legs and tested himself, tensing his toes and preparing himself for a sudden onslaught of pain that he strongly suspected would probably scupper his first attempt to stand up. It didn't matter. It didn't goddamn _matter _how long it took; he was getting out of here…

"Awww, _bless_! It's like watching Bambi take those first, faltering steps, innit?" Micky Cox laughed good-naturedly. He was leaning against the doorframe, his powerful arms crossed over his chest and grinning broadly. "Alright there, Bambi?"

"Exactly what ya got planned with this, CJ?" Diane's voice was filled with amusement and there was a playful smile flickering around her lips. "Because I can't _wait _to see how this pans out, old son." She was leaning on the opposite side of the doorframe, mirroring Micky Cox's posture. Both ex-soldiers were watching Colby intently.

"Fuck off." Colby scowled at his friends.

"Should've brought us some popcorn, guv."

"I said, fuck _off_, Micky!"

"Or a hotdog. Ya know, I could just go a hotdog right now. When's the intermission?" Diane grinned at Colby.

Colby glared back at the two Brits. "You wanna help? Get me my pants, for Chrissake!"

"Tell ya what, Bambi. You prove to me you can stand up on your own, _without _falling flat on your arse, mind, and I'll get you some trousers." Micky grinned, but there was a serious look in his eyes.

"You call me Bambi _one more frickin' time _and I'll kick your scrawny British ass, Cox!"

"Ooo, snappy comebacks, Granger! Been working on them have ya?"

"Pants, buddy. Just get me some damn pants."

"Prove you can stand up without passin' out, and you'll get your…_pants_." Micky glanced at Diane. "He does know that pants mean something else where we come from, right?" Diane nodded.

"Humour him." Diane winked at her friend. "Oh, 'ang on, hold the front page, Coxy, yes, yes by George, I think he's goin' for it! Break out the pom-poms, Mick! Go Colby! Go Colby!" Diane imitated a cheerleader and jigged up and down on the spot, grinning broadly.

"I refer you to my previous comebacks, you limey bastards!" Colby gritted his teeth, flicked the laughing English soldiers the finger and went for broke. He pushed himself off the bed and stood up.

It didn't work.

Within a second, nausea swept through him like a tidal wave and his knees turned to Jell-O. His vision blurred and he felt himself crumple, the fog in his brain thickening and his vision tunnelling into darkness. He felt two pairs of strong arms catch him before he hit the ground and support him gently but firmly back onto the edge of the bed. He sat there, his head dropped onto his chest, breathing heavily, fighting hard against unconsciousness, his fingers twisting into the bedsheets in frustration. Diane crouched in front of him, gently placing a finger under his chin and tipping his head up. Her green eyes met his and he tried to focus on her, blinking hard to try desperately to clear his vision. "No _pants_ for you, love. Sorry. That was a fail." Her voice was soft and full of concern. He could feel Micky's hands supporting his shoulders, stopping him from tipping forward. "Colby, listen to me. The ribs and the cuts aren't much to write home about love, but that bang on the head is. You've got concussion, Col. Which means you're about as much use to us as a chocolate teapot right now." He tried to speak but she laid a finger against his lips and shook her head. "A-a-a. Back into bed. Now, soldier. That's an order." Her hand cupped his cheek and she gently kissed him on the lips. "I mean it, Col. Don't make me force you into bed." She glanced up at Micky. "You even _smirk, _Cox, and I'll kick your fat arse so hard you'll think it's a windy day!" Her eyes narrowed at her colleague, who merely fought a gallant but loosing battle against the grin that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"No ma'am. Wasn't smirking. Wouldn't even think about smirking. Honest. Not a smirk to be seen. A smirk-free zone, me…"

Colby and Diane both glared at the Englishman and spoke together. "Shut up, Micky!"

"Shutting up."

They gently laid Colby back onto the bed. Diane turned to her friend. "Get us a cuppa would you, Mick? If they've got rosy, that would be a bonus."

"If not…"

"Coffee. Thanks." Micky nodded and laid a brief, gentle hand on Colby's shoulder. "That'll teach you to call us limey bastards, Yank!" He patted his friend's shoulder softly and was gone.

Colby looked quizzically at Diane. "Rosy?"

"Rosy Lee. Tea. Cockney rhyming slang, love." She smiled softly. "You've got rusty, old son."

"Haven't been around Brits for a while, baby." He sighed and leaned back into the pillows. "You know as soon as your back is turned, I'm gonna get my ass back outta this bed and out of this friggin' hospital, don't ya?"

"That would be through dumb and out the other side, pet." Diane sat on the edge of the bed and their fingers wove together, holding onto each other tight. She smiled softly at him. "You know damn well you're not fit, Colby."

"Whoa. Whenever you call me that, I know you're serious." Colby grinned at her.

"_Stop it,_ love. Please. I've got enough to worry about without you going all Clint Eastwood on me." Despite their gentle banter, Diane sounded worried. She stroked his hair, carefully avoiding the ugly gash that ran along his temple. "You're lucky you haven't ended up with an aneurysm with that crack on yer skull, babes. Just give it time. Please. I'm begging you. I can't be thinking about you and the lads at the same time. Here, you're safe. Out there? You're wide open, darling. And I can't exactly see you chasing down a suspect or dodging a bullet." She kissed him on the forehead. "You're not Superman, Col. Don't pretend you are."

Colby sighed and nodded, wincing as the stitches pulled in his skin. "I know. I'm just…"

"…Frustrated. I know."

"Babes, answer me something, would you? And please don't take this the wrong way, okay?" Colby shifted and despite Diane's best efforts to stop him, sat up again.

"Okay, go on."

"How much do you know about Phil Mountbatten?"

Diane sat back, a surprised look on her face. "Phil? What makes you ask that?"

"Just…well, you said it earlier. Humour me." Colby stroked her cheek and smiled. "Please."

"Well, he's regiment. Joined us from the Paras in 07. Only just made the cut from what Bridgewater told me, but clean as far as I know. Where you goin' with this, babe?"

Colby shrugged. "A hunch?"

"Uh-oh…I know your hunches, Granger." Diane frowned and lowered her voice. "It's funny. Now you mention it, Rob was always a bit sus of Phil. Didn't trust him. I did a full background check on him, but couldn't find anything."

"Maybe you didn't dig deep enough, baby."

"Maybe…" Diane fell silent for a moment. "He was the one who got us this gig. Said that Peterson wanted a team of Brits because of our backgrounds. The money was shit-hot, that's why we took it. The British contact was pretty insistent too. Said they wanted only the best. Real ego-massage time. Damn civvy creeped me out. He seemed a little _too _eager, ya know? And he had a real specific shopping list of those he wanted on the job. Me, Gary, Micky, Danny, Terry and Rob. Phil was the arranger. They said it was all of us or the gig was off. If I'd have had my way…"

"…You wouldn't have taken the gig?" Colby's voice was quiet too. They were both careful that nobody further than a couple of feet from them could hear their conversation. His expression was thoughtful and he decided to make sure nobody could know what their conversation was about. He spoke again, this time in fluent Spanish. "You and Micky were the only ones who knew about our meet, baby. _And_ Phil. Sorry, darling, but to my way of seeing it, he's the weak link here. He got you over for the babysitting gig. He the one who arranged it all, right?" Diane nodded, frowning. "And he's the one other person who knew where we'd all be this morning and now you're telling me he's only been with you for what, 18 months? Maybe Rob was right to be suspicious of him, Dee. That guy's got a built-in radar system that would do the US Air Force proud, baby. You and I have known Rob for, what, five years? Longer, maybe? When have you ever known him to be off on something like this?"

Diane's response was also in Spanish. She'd picked up quickly on his unease. "He learnt everything he knows from you, sweetheart. Listen. I'm waiting to hear from Rob. If there's anyone who can dig out a mole, it's him. He's got the same contacts in the British security services as I have. And you know Rob. If there's something there to find, he'll find it."

"Does he know Rob's in England?"

Diane's eyes darkened. "Shit. Yes. Yes, he does."

"If nothing happens to Rob, then, hey, maybe I was wrong. But if something _does _happen, and believe me baby, I'm praying to _God _that it doesn't…" Colby left the sentence unfinished. Diane was lost in thought for a few seconds and then nodded.

She stood up and bending down over the bed, kissed him again on the lips, her hand cupping his cheek softly. This time she spoke to him in English. "You get some sleep. Leave it with me. I promise you, as soon as I know something I'll…"

"Dee?" Micky Cox stood in the doorway and held up a cell-phone. His eyes were deadly serious. "It's Rob…"

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Ian Edgerton stepped out onto the roof of the FBI building and flipped open his cell-phone, hitting a speed-dial number. Pressing the phone to his ear, he waited patiently and when prompted, spoke quickly and quietly. "Zero three, two, three, one, one, alpha, delta four. Edgerton." Again he waited, almost wishing there was 'hold' music to listen to to relieve the boredom as his code was checked and the line cleared. Finally, a voice spoke.

"_Ian. An unexpected call. What can I do for you?"_

"I need clearance for someone to access Amber Room. Charles Eppes."

_"Professor Eppes? That's a tall order, Ian…"_

"It's essential." Ian's fingers tightened around the phone and he scanned the skyline, out of habit more than anything else. "Look. You know what went on this morning, I take it?"

"_Of course. Is Granger okay?"_

"He's still alive, if that's what you mean. As is Don, thank you for asking."

"_Don isn't involved in this, Ian."_

"He is now. There's no way the Company can handle this one on their own. The FBI _are_ involved now, no matter what you would prefer to happen. Colby's hurt, so he's not really in a position to deal with this right now. If it was him asking, would you still be so reluctant to help?" Ian's voice was sharp.

_"No. We wouldn't. But Ian, you have to realise that Colby has a vested interest in this. He's on the list. You're not."_

"Not on the phoney list you're department put out, no."

_"Meaning?"_

Ian's patience snapped. "Don't play _fucking games _with me, Howard! The real list is out there. And you know _damn well _I'm writ large on that one, buddy! Now stop jerking me around!"

"_Worried someone might have __**you**__ in __**their **__crosshairs this time, Ian? Okay. I'll arrange it. What's the situation with the British?"_

"Diane Armstrong and Micky Cox are at the hospital keeping an eye on Colby and Don. They've got another one with them as well, I don't recognise him from Afghanistan or Kosovo, but he's ex-SAS."

_"Philip Mountbatten. Yeah. The Brits are doing their own bit of gumshoe work, Ian. I had a call this morning from their people in London. Look. This could do a lot of damage to the Company if the truth were to get out. Try and keep things under control, can you? And for God's sake, try and keep our Federal friends on a leash! Eppes has a reputation for bending the rules when it suits him. I'd hate to see anyone get hurt through his indiscretion."_

"Buddy, if you'd've been a bit hotter on the _indiscretion_ stakes a bit earlier on, this shit would never have _happened_! I'll be in touch." Without waiting for a reply, Ian snapped the phone shut and pushed it into his pocket. Scanning the rooftops one last time, he turned and went back into the building…

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Rob Maynard pulled the corner of the curtain back from his hotel room window and looked out onto the street below. A steady London drizzle was falling, doing little to wash the grime from the road. A mobile phone was pressed to his ear. "Dee? It's me. Danny's got it. The lads are chuffed to buggery with the rest of the intel he managed to get from that shit-hole, but the list was in there as you said... No, he's fine. Mark's looking out for him. He should be on the next plane out of Kabul and back to you within the next 24." He let the curtain drop back, ignoring the black car that was so obviously parked out front. Bloody MI6. Fucking amateurs… "There's more. I met up with Toby. He very kindly gave me some background on Phil, boss. I've emailed it to you on a clean URL. Sierra delta seven, seven, three, five, one, nine." He crossed over to the bed and sat down, running his hand through his short, blonde hair. "Dee, I'm sorry. He's…"

The window glass didn't shatter. A perfect hole punched its way through it, the glass cracking in a star pattern around the hole. In the centre of Rob's forehead, a red trickle of blood ran down from a bullet hole. He was dead before he hit the floor…

_"Rob? ROB! **SHIT!** ROB!"_

**_TBC…_**


	11. Wrong Time, Wrong Place

Disclaimer

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand once more with feeling:

I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. Which is a shame really, because if I did, ya honestly think I'd be writing fanfiction? Nooo, I'd be lounging by a pool in LA, having someone peel grapes for me. But I have to work for a living. And this is my stress-management tool. So the story is mine (ALLLLL MINE!) as is the character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter.

Warning: his story does contain scenes of violence and some strong language.

Now. About those grapes…

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"Rob? ROB! _SHIT!_ ROB!"

The line went dead.

"Son of a BITCH!" Diane hurled the phone across the room, ignoring its shattering demise against a wall, the SIM card flying through the air, PCB boards and plastic casings disintegrating from the impact. She turned and punched the air in frustration and grief at the loss of another friend and at being a step further away from finding an answer. Micky grabbed her quickly in a bear hug and held on, trying to calm her.

"Easy guv. _Easy_…"

Colby felt utterly helpless. He struggled up and swung his legs around, sitting precariously on the edge of the bed and ignoring the second wave of nausea that hit him again. "Dee? Baby?" Diane turned in Micky's arms and looked straight at Colby. The despair and fury that was clearly evident in her green eyes damn near broke his heart and he held a hand out to her. She broke loose from Micky's embrace and touched Colby's fingertips. He pulled her close and wrapped a protective arm around her, trying desperately to shield her from any more pain, wanting nothing more than to keep her safe…

Micky slid down the wall of the room, his back pressed against the hard, cold surface and crouched there, silent, furious, lost in his own mourning for his friend. The entire damn team was being torn apart. First Gary, then Terry, now Rob… He covered his eyes with his hand, his other balled into a fist that wanted to smash into whomever was doing this.

For a few moments, the three friends were silent; each of them trying to come to terms with the loss of yet another friend. A blackness descended into the room of simmering rage, grief and fear – a fear of how many others would die before this nightmare was finally over.

"This ends. Now." Diane's voice was soft but Colby could hear the razor sharp edge that each word had. She looked directly into his eyes and he could see that the tears that ringed her green orbs were being forced back. A dark look of determination told him that she'd gone into 'business mode', as she'd always called it. God help anyone who got in her way now… "You were right, love."

"I wish to _God_ I hadn't been, baby." He shook his head sadly. "I really wish I hadn't been."

"Coulda, woulda, shoulda love. That's the old saying, isn't it?" She turned, still holding onto Colby, still clinging to him for strength…"Mick? Micky? You okay, soldier?"

"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I'm…yeah. I'm fine." Micky looked anything but fine. He ran a hand over his face. "I'm okay, guv." He looked up, a picture of misery and anger. "What the_ fuck_ is goin' on, Dee? Seriously?"

"Where's Phil?" Diane's voice was icy cold. Micky looked momentarily surprised.

"Phil? I…um, I don't know. I think he's getting some shut-eye somewhere. He said he was gonna grab a few minutes while he had the chance."

"Find him."

"I…"

"_Find him_."

"Ma'am." Micky stood up quickly and threw a questioning look at Colby. "You gonna be alright, mate?"

"I'll be fine. Mick? Be careful, okay?" The concern was obvious in Colby's voice. Micky Cox caught on quickly. Phil Mountbatten's card was marked as far as Diane was concerned. And that was good enough for Mick. Colby's concern confirmed it.

"He's our leak?"

Colby nodded. "Mick, we need him alive, buddy. Okay?"

Micky Cox stared hard at his friend. "Alive. Gotchya. Okay. How _negotiable_ is that?"

"Non-negotiable, Mick. We need intel. He's the weak link but we need to know who's calling the shots. And _why_."

Micky stood for a second, processing the bitter information that a man he had trusted had betrayed them all. His usual good nature and easy wit had deserted him and Colby saw an almost feral look come into his eyes. Micky met Colby's gaze and the look would have chilled anyone else to the bone. "Copy that. Alive. I call dibs on the interrogation." The joke didn't have one trace of humour in it. Colby knew that Micky Cox meant to have at least some measure of revenge on Phil Mountbatten. As long as that revenge was tempered with enough restraint to ensure that Micky didn't go too far. Well, at least not far enough to kill the bastard before they'd got some information out of him anyway...

Colby's eyes narrowed and he nodded. "Do what you _have _to, bud." Rob had been a friend of his as well. Too many people had died. Too many _good _people...

"Mick?" Diane stopped the Englishman with a simple word. He looked at his boss, an eyebrow raised. "Keep it together. Clear?"

Micky smiled nastily. Colby and Diane had made their positions clear. They might want Mountbatten alive, but that didn't mean he had to be _intact..._"_Crystal_, ma'am." He turned and wordlessly left the room…

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Micky rounded a corner in the hospital corridor and stopped dead. In front of him stood a dark-haired man he recognised from an earlier encounter in Colby's room. The man stood in the middle of the corridor, staring directly at the Englishman. "Micky Cox, isn't it?" The soft American accent had a gentle lilt to it, but a steely undertone.

"Ah. Ian. Yeah, look mate, sorry about earlier. Ya know. The whole pointing a gun at you bit."

Ian smiled and nodded. "Not a problem, Mick. Good to know Colby's got such close friends when he needs them. Sorry about the attack dog crack."

"Ah, I've been called worse." Micky shrugged and smiled. Ian noticed that the smile didn't reach his eyes…"

"How's Col?"

"He's okay. Bit wobbly on his pins, but apart from that he's fine. Look, I'm in a bit of a hurry, mate, so if you don't mind..."

"Looking for someone?" Ian raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Is there some kind of bloody ESP training session that I missed or something?"

Ian laughed quietly. "No, Mick, just damn good intelligence and connections to the right people. Why are your people investigating Phil Mountbatten?"

Micky looked darkly at Ian. He was in no mood to be interrogated in the middle of a hospital hallway right now, even if the interrogator was the legendary 'Hawkeye' Edgerton. "Better talk to the guv about that, mate. All I want to do is find out where the fuck he is right now. So like I said. If you don't mind…" He went to move past Ian but the American laid a hand on his arm and stopped him. Mick looked at the hand and back at the American. They were equal in stature but Micky had the edge on Ian size-wise. If it turned nasty, things could be difficult for the American. Micky Cox was no lightweight. Regimental boxing champion and years in the SAS gave him reactions that would easily match Ian's. And Ian knew it. Their earlier encounter had impressed on him just how fast the Englishman could be. It all depended on who blinked first… When Micky spoke, his voice was very soft and full of menace. "It would be really wise of you to let go of my arm, old son. Right about _now_would be good for you…"

"Mick, listen to me. My people, _Colby's_ people," he added Colby's name to try to get Micky to trust him and to defuse any potentially explosive situation with the ex-soldier, "we know that Mountbatten is red-flagged. He's also extremely dangerous. You need to find him?" Ian shrugged, the offending hand still laying on Mick's arm. "Well, I'm a pretty good tracker. Figured two heads would be better than one. Ya know. Hands across the ocean and all that shit."

Micky thought for a moment. "You got wheels?"

"Outside."

"Come on then." He shrugged Ian's hand away and walked quickly down the corridor. Ian smiled to himself quietly and followed the Englishman…

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"First place he'll probably head is our flop-house. Try and cover his tracks, destroy any evidence, grab himself some ordinance. That's our best bet." Micky directed Ian through the urban sprawl of LA to a quiet neighbourhood on the outskirts of Hawthorn. "Don't park too close, Ian. If that son of a bitch is in there, I don't want anything to give him a head's up that we're around, okay?"

Ian nodded and stopped the SUV a few houses down on the opposite side of the street. The area was deserted – it was late evening and most people were in their houses, leading ordinary, unexciting lives consisting of TV dinners and an episode of CSI:Miami. Micky and Ian slipped out of the car quietly and made their way to the house. Micky gave Ian the signal to take the back while he approached the front of the house. Crouching in front of the door, Micky stayed out of sight from any window that overlooked the front yard and silently opened the door. A soft click told him that Ian had gone in through the back but apart from that no other sound greeted him as he stepped into the hallway, his Browning 9mm drawn and ready.

He systematically checked each room, looking for a man he would have been happy to shoot in the head if it wasn't so damn important to keep the devious little shit alive. Micky contented himself that Diane's 'keep it together' comment and Colby's instruction to 'do what you _have _to do' only applied to him actually finding Mountbatten. After that he knew that they'd let him off the leash and then? Well, _then _he could have a bit of _fun _with the bastard…

"House is clear." Ian came up silently on Micky's left.

"You move quiet for a big bloke, don'tchya?" Micky grinned at the American and pointed into a room. "He was here. Not long ago, either."

"Yeah. Coffee's still warm." Ian touched the coffee machine with the back of his hand and raised an eyebrow at Micky. "A half hour. Tops."

"Which means he left in a hurry. Someone gave him a head's up. Someone who knew about Rob."

"Rob?"

"One of our people. He was in London, sniffin' out exactly who was behind all this. Never even thought it would've been one of our own." Mick's voice dropped. "Bastard. How could he do this? He was_ regiment_, for Christ's sake!"

"From what I know, your guys had him under watch for a while. How come you guys didn't know?"

"We didn't serve with him. He wasn't part of the original team. But he was regiment, so we assumed he was kosher."

"Not like Diane to make a mistake like that, Mick."

"Dee's head wasn't exactly in a good place at the time." Micky started to search the room. "None of us were. We'd all just left Hereford and this guy who's ex-regiment offers us a six month easy money gig. Would have been enough for us all to get on our feet. I mean, Christ, the pension just about paid for the plane ticket over. So the money was…well. Ya know. Give us a bit of breathing space while we worked out what we all wanted to do with the rest of our lives." He listlessly picked up a computer flash drive stick and unthinking, slid it into his pocket. He glanced at Ian. "Didn't even consider that one of our own would double-cross us. He was…"

"…I know. You said. He was regiment. Hurts when one of your own betrays ya, don't it?"

Micky rounded on Ian in a flash. Before he knew what was happening, Ian found himself pushed hard against a wall, a finger on his carotid artery and Micky's furious face inches from his own. He tried to move but the Englishman had him pinned. "If you're referring to Colby's involvement with the Chinese, _mate_…"

"Whoa! Hey, easy, Mick! I know Col never betrayed the team, okay? _I know_! I was just sayin'!"

Micky stared hard at the American for a second and then slowly backed away. He ran a hand through his hair. "I…yeah. Okay. Sorry 'bout that. It's…yeah, that was my fuck up there, Ian. Took it the wrong way. Over-reacted. Sorry."

Ian rubbed his neck and stared at the man. He was jumpy, to say the least…"Ya know, I'd really appreciate it if you remembered that I'm on your side, bud, okay? That's twice today."

"Sorry. Really. I am. I promise. No more tryin' to kill ya." Micky grinned apologetically. "Just a bit defensive when it comes to my mates." He shrugged.

"How did you know about the Chinese affair?"

"You'd be surprised what I know about, Ian. And how I know it. Your computer firewalls ain't as good as you like to believe, old son. Besides. Colby and me go a long way back. One of your best mates gets banged up for treason and you tend to take an interest. If you hadn't have got to him in time on that freighter, then at least someone would've been able to clear his name afterwards. We've worked a lot of oppos together. Couple of times, he's backed me up when I needed it. So?" He shrugged again. "Like I said. He's one of our own. And we don't leave our own in the lurch._ Ever_." The Englishman sighed deeply and stood for a moment, his hands on his hips, staring at the floor. Eventually he looked up again and straight at Ian, a deeply apologetic expression on his face. Look, I'm sorry. I really am. I haven't slept since, well, actually I can't remember when I last grabbed some zeds. And all this talk of treachery…"

"I know, bud. Look, it's not a problem. We're good here, right?"

"Yeah. We're good."

Ian let out a sigh of relief. "So how did Mountbatten know we'd be coming after him?"

"Dee was on the phone to Rob. Some bastard shot him while he was talking to her." Micky began to search the room and let out a groan of annoyance. "Ah-_crap_!" He held up a smashed laptop. "Fucker's only gone and put a hammer through the hard drive!" He hurled the laptop across the room in frustration. "Everything we had was on there!" Micky stared around the room, silent for a moment, deep in contemplation. "He's close. Think about it. If he's setting up everyone who's on Amber Room and he's picking us off one by one, who do you think he'd go after next?"

"Logic says Diane. Or another hit on Colby."

"No. The only one who got hit in front of the rest of the team was Gary. And that was from a distance, no witnesses. He knows full well Dee isn't gonna leave Colby's side, not while Col's so vulnerable. So…"

"That mean's you're next?"

"Hmm. Kinda getting a bad feeling right now, old son…"

"What sort of bad feelin', Micky?"

"That bad feelin' that tells you you've been played, ya know? That bad feelin' that tells you that you're in _the wrong place at the wrong fuckin' time…_" Micky had zeroed in on a table that stood in the middle of the room and had crouched in front of it, his eyes searching the underside of the wooden surface. A brick of C4 was taped to the underside, an LED countdown ticking off the seconds. Nine, eight, seven…

**"_BOMB!"_**

Both men turned instantly and flat out sprinted for the front door…

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Phil Mountabatten watched the house from the car. He'd seen Cox and another man go in. Ah well, collateral damage. Shame, but there you were. In a war, people died. He glanced at his watch. Any second now… The trigger had been wired to the front door. He'd put a five-minute delay on the fuse to make sure that Cox was inside the room when the bomb went off. He pulled out a cell-phone and dialled a number, glancing one last time at the silent house. He then focused his attention on the call and getting out of there before the whole neighbourhood went to Hell in a handbasket. He turned the ignition of the car and swung the wheel around, the cell-phone cradled on his shoulder as he pulled away. "It's me. Cox is dead. Well," he glanced at his watch again. "In about seven seconds he will be. That just leaves Armstrong, Granger and Smith. I'm done here, buddy. They're way too close. I've kept my end of the bargain, so time to pay the piper, mate. Two million. You know the account number." He snapped the phone shut and pushed it into a pocket.

Behind him, the house erupted in a fireball that spewed out onto the street and blasted windows out across the entire block. The noise was deafening. Car alarms screamed and the yelps of saloons and people carriers as their windshields crazed and shattered merged with the cries and screams of the people relaxing by their televisions as they were showered with their own window glass. The excitement of the late evening episode of CSI:Miami had suddenly become all too real in this normally sleepy neighbourhood…

Phil drove away quietly, smiling to himself. He glanced in the rear view mirror at the carnage that lay behind him. He'd never liked Cox anyway. "Smart arse. Let's hear one of your oh-so-fuckin' funny comebacks now, you tosser!" He reached down and turned the radio on, ignoring the screaming sirens of the emergency service vehicles going in the opposite direction as they roared towards the inferno that once was a quiet, suburban house…

**_TBC…_**


	12. Company Man

Disclaimer.

The usual. Ya know. About me not owning anything to do with Numb3rs. And all that crap about me owning the story and the character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter. Yada, yada. Aaaaaaaanyhoo, on with the story then…

Usual warning for violence and strong language.

I've really gotta start putting more pazazz into these disclaimers, haven't I?

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"Goddamn, bastard son of a_ BITCH_!" Micky staggered to his feet, shielding his face with a crooked right arm against the inferno that engulfed the house. His face twisted into a snarl and he let out a guttural scream of primeval anger. "_TRAITOR! YOU LOWLIFE FUCKING __**SCUMBAG TRAITOR, **__MOUNTBATTEN! ARGH!"_ Crouching with his hands thrown over his head he curled into a ball, utter rage at the enormity of the situation overwhelming him, his enraged bellow of fury lost in the roar of the fire. He stood up again and swung a wild punch of sheer frustration in the air. For a few seconds, he stared dully at the flames that pulsed out of the shattered windows like eyesockets on fire. In his mind's eye he was picturing Mountbatten's face – that sneering smirk he always wore, the right corner of his mouth pulled up in a sardonic smile. "I'll find you, you son of a bitch. I'll _find you…" _Suddenly remembering that he hadn't been the only one running for his life when the bomb exploded, he looked around frantically for Ian, ignoring the scream of distant sirens and the gathering crowd of onlookers who stared in disbelief at the wreckage of the once pristine suburban house. A low groan caught his attention and he ran to the prone figure of Ian Edgerton. He dropped to his knees next to the man and instinctively checked the carotid artery for a pulse. It was there and it was strong. Micky let out a sigh of relief. "Ian? Hey, IAN! C'mon, yank, talk to me!" Micky gently but firmly turned the American onto his back and checked his breathing.

Ian's eyes flickered open and he groaned again. Slowly, painfully, he sat up, shaking his head to try and clear the klaxon of bells that rang in his ears. Micky's lips were moving, but he couldn't hear a damn thing. He shook his head again and slowly the buzz of white noise cleared enough for him to hear the muffled words the Brit was saying. He indicated that he was okay and struggled to his feet, quietly thankful of the Englishman's strong grasp on his arm to stop his knees from buckling under him a second time. "I'm okay Micky."

"That was one pissass mother of a bomb, old son. You sure you're okay? Because seriously? The way you came outta that door mate, for a moment there I actually believed a man could fly!" Micky grinned humourlessly at him.

"Seriously. Apart from the fourth of July celebrations going off in my ears, I'm fine."

"Yeah. The blood all over your face says otherwise, mucker."

"It's a head wound. They always bleed like a bastard." Ian nodded towards the black SUV's that screeched to a halt outside the house. "The cavalry's arrived."

"As long as they've brought a couple of fire appliances with them. That bugger looks like it's gonna spread to next door any second now." Micky nodded to the shower of sparks that were landing on the neighbouring roof. On cue, a second barrage of sirens announced the arrival of the LAFD.

"You guys okay?" David jogged across the lawn with a look of deep concern on his face. Half a step behind, Megan trotted up, frowning deeply.

"What is _with _you Bits and blowing stuff up? Seriously?" The small smile on her lips belied the worry she felt for Ian in particular. The entire team now seemed to be running around with targets on their backs and it made her skin crawl. She touched Ian's arm, a questioning look echoing David's concern.

"We're fine. Well, I will be when I get all my hearing back, anyway." Ian shook his head again and scowling furiously, jiggled a finger in his left ear. "You may have to use sign language for a couple of days with me, guys, seriously." He jiggled the finger again, trying to dislodge the Liberty bell that still rang in his ear. He ignored the rivulet of blood that ran down the side of his cheek. The head wound looked far worse than it actually was.

"What in the hell happened here?" David rounded on Micky, an accusing look on his face.

"House go boom. Much excitement." Micky shrugged.

"Yeah, funny. That's…yeah, that's _real _funny, Micky. I can see why you and Colby are such good mates…"

"Mountbatten." In an instant, all trace of mirth had vanished from Micky's face. "That bastard just made it _real _personal with me, Sinclair. Take a look in my eyes, old son. Look at me. Tell me if you can _see me laughing_…" The last three words were snarled. The split second change from flippant disregard for the potentially lethal situation they had just survived into the icy cold stare of a very, _very _pissed off ex-SAS soldier chilled David's blood. No matter how jovial Micky Cox seemed, underneath the Cockney banter was a battle-hardened professional who now had a personal vendetta going against a man he saw as a traitor. David knew from what Colby had told him just how seriously the Brits took treason. Especially when it was from one of their own…

"He knew you'd come back to the house."

"That's a given. All our gear was in there."

"So he must've been close by, to know when to detonate?" Meg looked at David. His expertise in explosives had saved the team on several occasions, thanks to that first Tel Aviv posting many years before and a wealth of knowledge in bomb making. Megan had often heard Colby and David arguing in the office about the best way to blow something up. The black humour of the office covered a far deeper knowledge that both men had of the darker side of humanity…

"No, not necessarily. What kind of bomb was it, Micky?"

"The exploding kind."

"Mick, for _Christ's sake_…"

"C4. Standard detonator with LED multiple sequencer operation. My guess is that there was a wireless trigger, probably infrared sensor, to activate a delayed countdown attached to the doorframe. Wi-fi ain't just for surfing the Internet for porn, you know. It's a standard set-up we've used for years if we need to remote blow something but kinda don't want to be in the neighbourhood when things get _interesting_. Black ops procedure. We used it a lot on known Taliban safe houses in Afghanistan." Micky paused. "Um…you know I'm gonna have to kill you now I've told you that, right?"

"So he didn't necessarily have to be anywhere near the house to detonate?"

"Nope."

"I'm sensing a but in your voice, Mick." David frowned again. He was starting to get a handle on how the Brits operated…

"Mountbatten's always been an egotistical bastard. Loves to be there when an operation goes down, even when the order to evac or do a distance job came in. Drove Pearson bloody mad by all accounts."

"Pearson?" Megan interjected.

"Our CO. Good bloke. Out in Kandahar at the moment. Mark Pearson. But he had a real personality clash with Mountbatten." Micky scowled deeply. "Beginning to understand why. Fucker's a pyromaniac. Psyche evaluation should've picked up on it. He loves the power trip. My guess is he watched us go into that house and hung around just long enough to make sure we didn't come back out again. Or if we did, that it was in little itty bits. I dunno. Maybe he knows we made it out, maybe not. I'm chancing on not." Micky scratched his head. "Listen. You Americans love your surveillance cameras, right? Any chance there's some around here? Might be able to give us a head's up as to what vehicle he's driving. Make tracking the bastard a whole bunch easier."

"He's got a good point, there, David. Any intel on the vehicle he's driving will help. Like Micky said. If he thinks we're dead, he's less likely to ditch the car straight away. I take it he's not the most meticulous of men?"

Micky shook his head. "Half-cock Monty. That was his nickname in the regiment. He damn near got thrown out twice for making stupid mistakes. There's a good shot he's got a few more fuck-ups in store which'll give us a good chance of getting to him pretty quick."

"Half cock?" Megan's eyes widened in amusement.

"Um, noo, not what you're thinking there, Meg. It's an English expression. Going off half-cocked. Means…um, well, starting something before everything's in place, ya know? Although, thinkin' about it, I never saw the bastard with a girl so," Micky shrugged and winked at Meg. "Maybe your interpretation ain't that far off!"

Ian let a small smile flicker across his lips. He'd always liked the Brits – a crazy bunch of bastards but bang on the money when it came to situations like this. He rubbed at his ear, still trying to stop the ringing that was making listening to conversations difficult. He knew it would pass eventually, but at the moment he was having to strain to listen to the conversation. Ian resorted to lip reading to make things easier.

David scanned the street, and smiled slowly. He pointed up at a camera. "Thank god for Neighbourhood Watch, huh?"

"Score!" Micky grinned. It wasn't a pleasant smile…

"I'll get the tapes of the last hour. See if anything shows…" Megan's phone interrupted her sentence. She looked at the caller ID and frowned. Flipping open the phone, she pressed it to her ear. "Reeves."

"_Agent Reeves? You said I should call you. I…I have to talk to you. Right now."_

"Michelle?" Megan strained to hear Michelle's whispered conversation.

"_I can't talk on the phone. Not here. Please. Meet me at the coffee shop three blocks down from Peterson's office in twenty minutes. Please. Agent Reeves?"_

"It might be safer for you to come to our office, Michelle…"

"_NO! No, I…I can't. Please, Agent Reeves. The coffee shop. Twenty minutes."_

"It's Megan. And I'll be there." She snapped the phone shut. "Looks like you'll have to follow up the video tape on your own, David. That was Michelle. She sounded scared out of her wits."

"You go with back up." David frowned. "Things are getting just a little too, what is it you called it Micky?"

"Interesting."

"Yeah. _Interesting._ No buts, Megan. Take…"

"I'll take Wallis. Now go find Mountbatten." Megan's voice was firm and she turned, indicating to an FBI agent who stood a little way off taking statements from the crowd. "And Ian? Get that head wound looked at, huh?" She flashed him a smile and walked away…

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Paul Wallis sat at the table, casually reading a newspaper. He glanced over to see Megan Reeves at another table, idly stirring a cappuccino with a spoon. He spoke quietly into his cuff. "Any sign of her?"

"_No. Not yet. Keep eyes on the street, Paul. I have a feeling we're not the only ones watching proceedings here."_

"Copy that." Paul straightened out the newspaper and surreptitiously scanned the street. Nothing obvious…"

"_Here she comes…"_

Michelle Keel walked quickly down the sidewalk towards the café. Dipping in from the crowds, she sat down suddenly next to Megan. Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes and she looked as if she was about to bolt at any second.

"I don't have much time. Nathan thinks I've just gone out for a coffee break." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a buff coloured file. "After you left, he made me put in a call to England for him."

"Nigel Winters?"

"Yes. I've met Winters once before." Michelle shuddered. "He gives me the creeps. Anyway, listen. Nathan's arranged for Winters to come over to LA. He's flying in tonight. Apparently they've got a meeting planned for tomorrow morning."

"Do you know what the meeting's about?"

"No, but Nathan was really freaked out by your visit, Agent Reeves. He's been on the phone ever since you left. A lot of international calls. Several to England, one to Kosovo and one to Afghanistan."

"How do you know this?"

"I…I had a bad feeling about things ever since he took Alex Carter and her team on to protect Destiny. So I, well, I kinda made it my business to know." She shrugged. "My brother is in Afghanistan, Agent Reeves. If there's something going on that could put him at more risk than he's already at…"

"We don't know exactly what's going on, Michelle, but I can promise you that if Peterson's involved, we _will _find out." Megan glanced at her watch. "You better get those coffees and get back to the office. Don't give him cause to suspect you, okay? Just try to carry on as normal."

"I'm scared, Agent Reeves. Nathan can be…intimidating. Ya know? Scary?" The girl, despite her eyes being shielded by the sunglasses, wore an expression of abject fear.

Megan laid a hand on the woman's arm and leaned forward, staring hard at the girl. "Michelle, I _promise _you. We will do everything to protect you, okay? _Everything_. I want you to promise me that if you think things are getting weird, doesn't matter _how _or when, you'll get out as quickly as possible and go straight to the FBI offices, okay? We can protect you there."

"I…okay." Michelle stood up quickly and glanced around. "Look, I'd better go." Without another word, she ran off down the street, disappearing into the crowd…

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Colby held the spoon up in the air and watched with a look of utter disgust on his face as the porridge-like substance dripped lazily off the end of the utensil. "You have gotta be _kiddin' _me!" He looked up at Diane. She couldn't help herself – a smile crept across her lips. She chuckled quietly and patted his hand.

"Be a good boy, Colby. Eat up your slops." She gently took the spoon from his fingers and held it up. "Looky, Colby! Here comes the aeroplane with a special, yummy cargo of porridge! Open the hanger doors and…neeeooowww! Here it comes! Mmm!" She grinned broadly as she made a noise like an aeroplane, moving the spoon towards Colby's mouth as if she were feeding an infant.

"Will you _quit it_, woman!" Colby grabbed the spoon from her hand and ignoring her laugher, threw the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter and pushed the tray away from him. "Don't tell me. Full of essential vitamins and minerals, right? Best thing to get me back on my feet asap, yeah?"

"I suppose you'd prefer a nice T-bone with fries, right?"

"You know me so well, baby!" Colby grinned. "Any chance of you going and gettin' me a take-out? There's a great Chinese just around the corner."

"How is it that your arteries aren't as clogged as your brain cells, CJ?"

"I work out. A _lot_. And I play chess. Keeps the arteries and the brain cells unclogged, baby. Anyhoo…" He sighed deeply and shifted restlessly on the bed.

"Getting frustrated?"

"Waddya mean?"

"Oh, c'mon, Col. Like you said. I know you far too well. You're _itching _to be out there hunting these bastards down, aren't you?"

Colby frowned. "Well? Waddya expect? I'm sat here on my ass, eating, no, correction, _avoiding _eating stuff I wouldn't throw at a dead dog and you think I should be reticent about the whole damn thing?"

Diane frowned back. "You're sat here on your arse, Colby, because you just got pushed off the side of a mountain by a damn semi! You're demanding I break every hospital rule by going out and getting you Chinese food and yes, you _do _need to be a little reticent about the whole thing, sweetheart. And you need to start trusting your friends to cover your arse when you physically can't, you stubborn bastard!"

Colby grinned broadly and pulled Diane into an embrace, ignoring the stab of pain in his side as he did so. "And _that_, Dee, is why I love you!" He kissed her and grinned again. "Always willin' to tell it like it is!" She smiled gently at him and kissed him back.

"And that, Granger, is why I love _you_. Never taking a blind bit of notice of what anyone says, right?"

"Am I interrupting anything?" Colby and Diane looked up sharply at the two suited men standing in the doorway. The older man smiled humourlessly and flipped open an ID badge.

Colby groaned. "Oh _man_…" He sighed and shook his head. "Hello Miller."

"Granger. Captain Armstrong." The man nodded curtly to Diane and walked into the room. His companion stood sentry at the doorway, standard 'hands clenched in front, scanning the corridor and looking menacing' pose.

"Wanna tell your buddy that he looks like a secret service agent on work experience duty?"

"Colby, you know full well that he _is _a secret service agent. And he's only been with us for a month, give the poor lad a chance, will you?" Miller smiled quietly and pulled up a chair. He glanced up at the congealing food on the tray. "You gonna eat that?" He pointed at the porridge.

"Knock yerself out, buddy."

"Um, Col?" Diane raised an eyebrow, an unspoken question on her lips.

"Diane, this is Special Agent Frank Miller. CIA."

"Ah. Right. A Company man. Explains the penchant for gruel. What's up, Miller? Don't they run to real food at Langley now your budget's been cut?"

Miller scooped a spoonful of porridge up onto the spoon and shovelled it into his mouth. Swallowing quickly, he grinned at Diane. "Trust me, Diane. This is way better than the crap they tried to force feed us on the plane over here."

"What do you _want_, Frank?"

"Heard about the near miss you had, Col. You really do know how to make enemies, don't you?" He finished the last of the porridge and put the bowl and spoon back on the tray. "You know, that's really quite good!" He smacked his lips and leaned back. "Anyway, as you can imagine, all hell is breaking loose at Langley. Your people," he nodded towards Diane, "have contacted ours and we decided that a concerted effort was in order."

"We're one step ahead of you, Frank."

"Oh yes. Your colleagues at the FBI and what's left of an ex-SAS team who are rapidly running out of members." Colby quickly laid a restraining hand on Diane's arm as he felt her tense at the flippant dismissal of her team. "C'mon, Colby. How much use do you think they can be? This is way out of their league…"

"…Pays not to underestimate them, bud." Colby's voice had an edge to it and he fixed Miller with a dark stare.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. But honestly, Col. How much good can they do here? Look Colby. You and Diane are vulnerable right now. Danny Smith is on his way back from Afghanistan and his orders from your people is to hand everything he has over to us as soon as he gets here. Once we have that list back, we can _protect _you. Like she said, Colby. Time to let others take the lead on this one."

"Protect us? Do you even know who you're looking for?"

"We have a good idea, yes."

"So that's a no, then?"

"I…"

"Look, Frank." Colby leaned forward and stared hard at the Company man. "You let us down in Kosovo six years ago. You let us down when Aranamov started causing hell in the middle of LA with a dirty bomb. You let Diane's team _and _me down with Mountbatten, and don't you dare tell me you didn't know about him, because I _know _you did! You seein' a _pattern _here, buddy? Because I sure as hell am! So you'll understand if I'm just a _little _bit reluctant to put my trust in a bunch of Washington pencil necks who think that this is some kind of dumb-ass _game_! People are dying, Frank. _Good _people. And there's plenty more who, if we don't stop that list from getting into the wrong hands could die as well."

"The list isn't important, Colby. It's a fake."

"We've been through this. The one Aranamov had was. The Afghan list is genuine."

"No. No it's not." Miller's eyes flickered to the right for a second. The flicker wasn't missed by Diane. She frowned to herself and studied Miller intently… "That list is worthless, Granger. A nice piece of dis-information our people cooked up to flush out a known traitor. Mountbatten. But he's just the tip of the iceberg, Colby, there's a bigger picture here and one that you're not privy to. Sorry to disappoint you both, really I am. But Danny's little foray into enemy territory was all part of the plan. We knew you'd send him out after the list; after all, you were the only ones who knew it was still in circulation. But the genuine list? Just marsh gas, my friend. Doesn't exist."

Colby sat back, stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but Diane spoke first. "You tellin' me that my team are dying and risking their lives for _nothing_?" Diane shook off Colby's restraining hand and stood up fluidly, seeming to grow in presence as she did. Colby frowned. Something wasn't right. Something in Diane's voice… Miller stared at her impassively.

"Wanna put a leash back on the Doberman here, Col?"

Colby glared at the man. "Diane? _Bite_ the son of a bitch on the ass!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Colby! Enough with the righteous indignation already!" Miller put a hand up. "Your people were all involved in Amber Room, correct? _Correct?" _Diane didn't answer. "Well, c'mon, Armstrong. You know the game. Soldiers are expendable. Valuable, yes, especially your lot, but expendable nevertheless. Amber Room was designed to flush out two major intelligence leaks in Washington and London, as well as corruption on a grand scale throughout local government. The American people have been voting in city hall officials who are all making a very nice sideline out of getting into bed with some very unpleasant people, my dear."

"You call me my dear again and I'll rip your fuckin' spine out!"

"And my man over there would put a bullet in your head before you'd got two steps, Armstrong. Know when to shut up, will you?" He shrugged. "Dealin' with the devil here, I'm afraid. Why do you think Captain America here quit the Company and decided to become a humble G-Man? Because our utter lack of principles didn't sit well with his Idaho, apple pie upbringing!"

"Fuck you, Miller."

"Back at ya, Colby. But what you need to remember here, my friend, is that no matter how much you dislike me…"

"…Oh, I'd say more _loath_, asshole…"

"…No matter how much you loath me then, Colby, I'm your only hope of getting out of this whole sorry mess alive."

"That's what you think." Colby smiled slowly. "You done here?"

"I don't think you quite underst…"

"Yeah. I think you're done, buddy." The razor-sharp edge in Colby's voice stopped Miller in mid-sentence. He couldn't break his gaze away from the savage, green-eyed gaze that bore into his own orbs and only noticed the movement at the corner of his eye at the last second – way too late to respond…

The cold steel of the Bowie knife pressed against his neck and Diane whispered quietly into his ear. "I think you'll find that Agent Granger said you're done here, my friend. Do we need to make it any clearer to you?" She had managed to move unseen and unheard behind the seated man and had one arm locked around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. The fluorescent light glinted dully off the blue sheen of the blade. Miller gurgled but was sensible enough not to struggle as he felt the steel edge bite into his skin…

The Company man at the door suddenly realised that his boss was in trouble and spun around, reaching for his gun. In an instant, the metal fork that had lain unused on the food tray was in Colby's hand. His wrist flicked and the fork buried itself in the man's arm, the prongs punching through the cloth of his mac and into the soft skin underneath. He let out a yelp of pain and clutched at the embedded fork, a trickle of blood oozing between his fingers. Colby looked at Miller and smiled lazily. He nodded at Diane. "_She_ taught me that little trick. Wanna see what else I can do with a dull spoon, buddy?" He winked. "Or perhaps you'd like to see how sharp that knife of Dee's is, huh?" He pointed towards the door where Miller's partner clutched at his arm, glaring at what he had assumed had been an injured man posing no threat at all. He suddenly realised why Granger had such a reputation at Langley…

"We'll be in touch." Miller swallowed. "Wanna back off a tad, Miss Stabby?"

Diane grinned and playfully ruffled Miller's hair. "Run along, Company boy. And a word to the wise. Piss my people off again? It won't be cutlery we'll be throwin' at you, pal. Crystal?" She slid the knife back and stepped away from the man. Miller stood up quickly and frowned deeply at Colby.

"That PTSD never really did clear up properly, did it Granger?" Without waiting for another word, he marched out of the room, grabbing his colleague by the coat as he passed him, ignoring the man's second yelp of pain. The fork was still lodged in his arm…

Diane turned to Colby with a wry smile on her lips. "Wanna see what I can do with a _dull spoon_?" She let out a laugh. "_Seriously_?"

"Get me some clothes."

Diane glanced at the retreating figures in the corridor. "He's lying, CJ."

"Through his teeth. Yeah. I know. I saw it too."

"Nice move with the fork, by the way."

Colby rounded on her, no trace of humour in the normally easy-going eyes. "Clothes. Now." Diane nodded curtly, the banter forgotten. Time to go to work…

**_TBC…_**


	13. Battered and Bloody

Disclaimer.

BRING ON THE TRUMPETS!

What? You wanted more pazazz, didn't ya?

(Cue ominous low 'C' rumble from the cello section) This is an official disclaimer. I officially disclaim any rights to Numb3rs, the characters, their wardrobe department or the catering van. I have bugger-all to do with Numb3rs apart from the fact that I'm a damn-near obsessive fan of the show. However, the following story and the disturbingly twisted character of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and the comedy relief of Micky Cox are all mine and I'll go ten rounds with anyone who says otherwise.

If you're easily offended by bad language or scenes of a violent nature, 1. You shouldn't be reading this and 2. This ain't the Disney channel, buddy, suck it up…

Right. I'll get the dancing girls on and then we can get on with the story, okay?

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Colby puffed his cheeks out, labouring with the simple effort of bending down to tie his bootlaces. He paused for a moment, letting the swirling patterns in front of his eyes subside sufficiently to allow him to complete the manoeuvre without actually passing out or throwing up.

"Y'alright there, CJ?" Diane's lips crinkled into a smile but there was genuine concern behind her eyes.

"Fine."

"Sure?"

"I _said _I'm fine!" Colby frowned deeply and carefully aimed his hands at the untied laces.

"Left a bit babes…"

"Look, shut the _fuck up_, will you?" Colby glanced up at the still smiling Diane, glaring angrily at her. "And while you're at it, stop poking the bear, woman, before I really go all lone gunman in the belltower on your ass, got it?" He couldn't help himself. He felt his own lips twitch at the corners and fought a valiant but ultimately losing battle against the grin that insisted on surfacing. He sighed. "Yeah, yeah, okay, I admit it. I know. I'm a crappy patient, okay?"

"Never said a word, old son!"

"You don't have to. That smirk on yer face said it all." The bootlaces tied, he stood up slowly, testing each movement to make sure he could keep the muscles under control. His strength was slowly returning – now if he could just stop the damn nausea that kept threatening to engulf him every time he moved… With iron-willed determination he straightened up and looked Diane directly in the eye. "There. See? I can tie my own damn laces."

Diane nodded and then gently kissed him on the cheek. "I've never been so proud, sweetie! What with feeding yourself and tying your own laces…what next Colby, big boy's toilet?"

"Will you _quit it!" _Colby grabbed her around the waist and kissed her passionately on the lips. He broke the embrace and a serious look came into his eyes. "Ready to find out who's been tryin' to kill us, baby?"

Diane's own green eyes hardened. The time for gentle intimacy and good-hearted banter was over. They had work to do. "Ready…"

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Don shifted uneasily in the bed and scowled. He hated being here. He hated being out of the loop. He hated this whole damn situation…

"Hey Don. You okay?" Colby stood at the doorway of Don's room. He looked deeply concerned for his boss. Don rolled his eyes and groaned.

"Marvellous. You're the one with a damn head injury and you're up and about before me? What the _hell_, Colby?"

"Nurses couldn't take any more of me. Said they needed my bed for someone who would appreciate it a bit more!" Colby grinned broadly and walked into the room. Don couldn't help noticing how carefully the big man moved, as if every footfall were an effort. Half a step behind him and tensed ready to catch Colby should he falter was Diane. The connection between the two of them was so obvious to Don. She really cared deeply for Colby, that much was clear. Don's opinion of the woman was slowly changing. Sure, she might be batshit crazy, as Megan had put it. But underneath that lunatic exterior was a complicated woman who was _damn good _at her job. Just like Colby. What _was _it about these Special Forces nutters? Don resigned himself to the fact that he would never fully understand the mentality of Colby and Diane, but right now? He was just happy to have them around. He sat up and clasped Colby's hand warmly.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For pulling me outta that SUV, bud."

"What, you thought I was gonna let you cook in there?" Colby raised an eyebrow. "No way, man. You've had my back plenty of times in the past, Don. I got your back too. You know that."

"Yeah, I know. But what you did…"

"…was exactly what _you _would've done in the same position." And with that simple dismissal, the two men knew that they could trust each other completely without any more words being spoken. Don nodded. Colby perched carefully on the edge of the bed. "So when you gettin' your ass outta bed then, bud? Or are you plannin' on playin' the sympathy card with that cute little blonde nurse?" Colby grinned.

"I don't go for blondes, you know that. Same as I know you have a thing about red-heads, Granger!" Don smiled broadly back and nodded towards Diane.

"Hey, standing right here, pal!" Diane frowned playfully.

"Armstrong, you keep my boy here safe, you understand?" Don's voice was hard but the woman picked up easily on the empathy behind it.

"That's a given, Eppes."

"I know. Just…I...just sayin' is all." Don scratched absentmindedly at his cheek. "Okay. So here's where the guys are." Time to bring Colby up to speed… "Megan's following up a lead with Peterson's secretary. As far as I know, David's looking after things back at the Bullpen. What your man is up to, god only knows, Diane."

"He's gone after Mountbatten. That scumbag's the leak our end. Why, I have no idea yet. But you can rest assured that as soon as Micky finds him he'll…" Diane's phone interrupted her by ringing sharply. "Excuse me…" She looked at the caller ID and glanced quickly at Colby. "It's Micky." She flipped open the phone. "Mick. Talk to me."

"_Hey guv. So, um, the flop-house's gone."_

"What do you mean, _gone_?"

"_As in boom gone. Mountbatten tried to blow me and your man Edgerton to the arse end of bumblefuck and back with a block of C4. Son of a bitch was probably watching the whole time. Sinclair's looking at the local CCTV tapes to see if we can pinpoint what car he's in."_

"You okay, Micky?"

"_I think I've got a piece of timber cladding shrapnel in my arse-cheek but yeah, apart from being pissed off to buggery, I'm fine. Ian took a bang on the head but he's okay. That cute blonde agent's off talking to Peterson's secretary and the LAFD are trying to put the house out, but there isn't much left, guv. Mountbatten smashed the laptops before he jerry-rigged the place. First time I've ever known that bastard to be thorough."_

"Did you manage to salvage anything?"

"_Nope. I…actually, 'ang on a minute…yeah, bugger me, I forgot! I managed to grab the main flash drive before I had to do a Linford Christie out of the front door. Must've picked it up without thinking."_

"Mick, that's the first damn time I've ever been grateful for you doing anything without thinking! Adda boy. Get yourself back to the FBI's offices. That flash drive could give us some pointers as to why exactly the CIA paid me and Colby a visit half an hour ago."

Don looked up sharply at Colby, who merely shrugged. "Langley have eyes and ears everywhere, Don. I'll explain later."

Diane was still speaking to Micky, her voice filled with urgency and command. "Any chance Mountbatten thinks you're brown bread?"

_"Probably."_

"Brown bread?" Don looked puzzled.

"Cockney slang. Brown bread. Dead." Colby shrugged. "Hey, they're English. Who knew?" He shook his head and smiled briefly.

"Okay. I'm still waiting to hear from Danny, but according to the Company man, he's made it out of Afghanistan and is on his way back to us. I want you to contact him in transit. Apparently he has orders to hand over Amber Room to the CIA. That must not happen, Micky. Do whatever you have to do to let Danny know."

_"Understood."_

Diane snapped the phone shut and turned back to the two FBI agents. "That'll stall Langley for a while until we know exactly who we can trust. Right now? We need to find Mountbatten."

"And I need to get out of this damn hospital. Col, do me a favour, bud. Get me some clothes, would ya?"

Diane let out a short laugh. "Now where have I heard that before?"

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"So the tapes showed a black Dodge Charger parked about four houses away from the Brit's stash house." David dropped a file onto Megan's desk and leaned on the partition. "Licence plate traces back to guess who?"

"Nathan Peterson?"

David smiled briefly. "Yeah, Nathan Peterson. Starting to see a few threads coming together here. I knew that slimy bastard was hiding something."

"You think he paid Mountbatten off to kill his own team?"

"As much as Peterson likes to think he's a big mover in the Hollywood scene, I doubt even he knows what he's getting into here, Meg. I think he's a middleman. Someone else is giving the orders, ya know. Further up the chain of command, so to speak."

"You've been hanging around with Granger too much, David." Megan smiled. "Chain of command? Kinda military, isn't it?"

"Meg, I'm pretty sure this all goes back to what Granger was mixed up in back in Afghanistan. I mean, we never really did find out what he was doin' out there, did we?"

"I tried to take a look at his military jacket when we were investigating him over the Chinese affair."

"Let me guess…"

"…Classified with a capital C, David. You'd have to be the damn Secretary of State for Defence to access it!""

David rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Ya know, sometimes I wonder just who the hell we've got working with us, Meg. I mean, the guy's a damn spy and by all accounts one of the best. What the hell's he doing gumshoing for the FBI?"

Megan frowned. "You havin' doubts about his loyalty, David?"

"No, I just don't understand why he isn't at Langley. Why's he slumming it with the Bureau in LA when he could be in the middle of the action with the CIA?" David sighed. "Guess I just don't know him as well as I thought I did, that's all."

"Look David. He's still your friend, no matter what he's mixed up in with all this. You know Colby. And you know he wouldn't do _anything _to put any of us at risk. I get the feeling he'd rather put himself in front of a bullet than see any of us risk our lives trying to deal with this. And you know something else? I don't think he particularly likes the CIA, David. Not from what I've gathered. Maybe he's just got higher moral standards than they have. Maybe that's why he's here and not there." Megan shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Hey, that's Colby, right?" David smiled sadly. "Guy's got that whole, death or glory thing goin' on. Left over from his army days, I reckon."

"Don't underestimate him, David."

"Oh, I don't, _believe _me! I learned that a long time ago." David chuckled. "You know, there was this one time…" The ping of the lift doors interrupted David's reminiscing and he glanced up. As the doors slid open, a wide smile spread across his face. "Well, waddya know!"

Megan glanced up, following David's look. Her face broke into a wide smile as she saw Don, Colby and Diane walk into the Bullpen. "Hey! Who signed you out?" She stood up and met them half way along the walkway between the booths, hugging both of the men in turn gently.

"Takes more than a semi runnin' us off the road to put us down, Meg, you know that." Don returned the embrace, just happy to be back in his comfort zone. Here, he could keep his finger on the pulse of the operation. Here, he could do something useful…

They carried on walking into the canteen area where Diane quietly got on with sorting out coffees for everyone. This wasn't her arena. Time to take a little bit of a back seat…

"So Charlie's running through Peterson's contacts book we managed to get. There was a number grid on the inside of the cover that looks like it may be some kind of fibernachi sequence that seems to be a code for a list of names. Edgerton's been onto whoever he has to talk to to get us more details about the Amber Room operation and Charlie's going to see if we get any matches across the two."

"I've checked out the video tapes from the CCTV and we got a hit on the car Mountbatten's driving. Licence plate goes back to Nathan Peterson, so that slimy son of a bitch is in this up to his neck, Colby." David sat down next to his friend and handed him a file. "Micky and Ian are on route to the last known sighting we have of the Charger. We're hoping that Mountbatten thinks they're dead and won't be expecting visitors. As soon as they have him, we'll hopefully start getting us some answers, brother." He smiled darkly. "Guess you guys wanna take the lead on that particular interrogation, huh?"

Colby didn't answer. He merely glanced at Diane. The look was chilling…

Good to have you two back here, guys." Megan smiled warmly again and graciously took the coffee Diane handed to her. She noticed how quiet the normally confident Englishwoman was. Diane withdrew into a corner and sat on a stool, just watching and listening…

"We could have another problem, Meg."

"Another? Like we need any more…"

"Colby's friends at Langley are sniffing around. Could be that this runs a little deeper than just some kind of personal vendetta against Diane and her team."

"And Colby."

"And Colby, yes." Don glanced at the man. "Okay then Col. Wanna fill us in on why the CIA are so damn interested in this case?"

Megan noticed the brief look that passed between Colby and Diane and the almost imperceptible nod that the woman gave, confirming to Colby that yes, he should tell them. She frowned. After the Chinese affair, she had known that there was another side to her friend and colleague that none of them had known about. But just how far this went was becoming more and more apparent to her. Colby may be one of the best FBI agents the Bureau had. But like David had said earlier. He was also one of the best military spies the CIA had as well…

Colby stood up and paced slowly, deep in thought for a moment. "Okay. Amber Room was an operation we put into place with the Brits about seven years ago. We knew we had a leak but we didn't know exactly how, who or where. So…look, imagine a waterpipe. Now you know you've got a leak in the pipe, but as the whole damn thing is underground, you can't tell exactly where, right? And the water, being clear, just seeps into the ground and away without leaving any trace. So to track a leak in a pipe you put blue dye into the water at a given point and see where the blue water leaks out. That pinpoints your problem. Amber Room was exactly the same. We fed out dis-information to find out where the leak was. Trouble was, we were only checking downstream of the point of origin. We didn't think to check upstream."

"So you're saying someone was, what, _piggy-backing_ the operation to get real information out to whoever?" David frowned.

"Exactly. When we closed down Aranamov and Frank Dicks six months ago, we thought we'd tied up all the loose ends. What we didn't know was that a list containing all the names of everyone involved in Amber Room was still in circulation, including some of mine and Diane's buddies who are still out in Afghanistan. Everyone who was involved in that operation is a target for whoever's orchestrating this whole sorry damn mess." Colby paused and ran a hand through his short hair. He looked tired, worried, thought Meg. Not the usual Colby she knew…

"Why would they want to kill off everyone involved in the operation? I don't understand that part." Don sipped at the coffee and winced. That was another thing he would never understand about ex-army operatives. How in the hell could they drink coffee_ that_ strong?

"Because we know who's involved in Washington and London, Don. We know the names of the people at the top of the damn food chain and who they're connected to. And someone is scared that if we start asking too many questions, their nice, easy life is gonna get turned upside down and they'll be spending time in Gitmo answering some pretty hard questions about treason and international assassinations, buddy." Colby's voice didn't have a trace of his usual humour in it. "This goes all the way up to the top, Don. The only people outside this room who know what's going on is two of Diane's team, the British military intelligence crew and the bastard who's trying to kill us. That kinda narrows down the field a touch."

"And Mountbatten." The quiet English accent stopped everyone in the room. Colby turned and looked at Diane, who smiled lazily. "Like David said. Once we get him back here, we'll start getting some answers…"

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Michelle Keel hurried out of the lift and back into the office. She sat down at her desk, flustered and edgy. The meeting with the FBI had confirmed in her mind just how much shit she was in. All she'd ever wanted to do was be an actress. Coming to LA from a small town in Oregon had seemed like the realisation of a dream. Landing a job as a secretary for one of the biggest agents in Hollywood had been a huge step in the door. But so far it had brought her zero fame and fortune and a job filled with drudgery and virtual slavery to a tyrannical boss and his temperamental charges. Now? Oh sure, she had plenty of excitement in her life. Just the kind of excitement she didn't need…

"Michelle? You took your time getting those coffees, didn't you?" Nathan Peterson smiled slowly, enjoying the cat and mouse game, relishing the power he had over this pretty little airhead. He watched her jump nervously in her seat and let out a little gasp as she realised her boss was standing only a few feet from her. Casually, he perched on the edge of her desk, his hands relaxed on his thigh. "So. Talk to anyone interesting while you were out?"

"I…I don't know what you mean, Nathan."

"Oh, you know. Just wondering what you were doing at Rico's café talking to the FBI, is all." The slow, lazy smile became more sinister.

"I…they were just there. I didn't even realise…"

"You know, for such a smart lady, you're a terrible liar, Michelle." The door opened quietly and two powerfully built men strolled in. Nathan glanced up and nodded at them. Michelle could feel the rising panic twisting her stomach into knots. Every instinct told her to run – run for her life…

Nathan studied a fingernail and frowned. "Hmm. I need a manicure. Can't go to the Mayor's dinner with a hangnail, can I?" He smiled at Michelle. "I'd ask you to book me an appointment, Michelle, but, ya see, here's the thing." He leaned in until his face was inches away from hers. She could smell the strong cologne he wore, overpowering her senses, even tainting the bile that rose in her throat…"I'm beginning to wonder just how much I can trust you, Miss Keel. And I really need people around me I can _trust,_ you understand? People who don't lie to me. People who don't talk to the FBI!" Michelle suddenly sensed the presence of one of the men who had walked in. He had shifted quietly across the room and now stood directly behind her. A rough hand clamped across her mouth, pulling her head back and stretching her spine. She let out a muffled scream as she felt a needle jab painfully into the taught skin of her slender neck. A cold sensation filled her veins and her vision started to blur. Breathing became difficult…

Nathan sat back and watched the girl's struggles weaken. Eventually they stopped and Michelle sagged in the chair, unconscious. He looked up at the man who had loosened his grip on her mouth, letting her head drop forward onto her chest. "Get her out of here. Take her to the villa. I want her out of the way until Winters has gone. Then?" Peterson smiled again. "Well, then we'll find out exactly how much the FBI know and what kind of damage limitation exercise we have to put in place. Any word on the Englishman?"

"Nothing. He's dropped off the grid." The man by the door spoke with a heavy accent. "It's only a matter of time before he goes to collect his money. Then?" The man shrugged. "We kill him."

"I'm not so sure. It doesn't pay to underestimate the Feds. If they get to him first, we could have a problem." Peterson stood up. "Find him. Kill him now. Can't have loose ends flapping about, now can we?" He smiled nastily and walked back into his office…

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"There's the car." Micky nodded to a black Dodge Charger parked at an angle to the motel room. "Jesus H Christ on a skateboard, the bloke ain't bright, is he?" There wasn't a hint of mirth in Micky Cox's voice. Ian rolled the SUV to a stop and turned off the engine.

"You wanna take the lead on this?" He flashed a brief smile at Micky.

"Oh, you bet ya!"

"How d'ya wanna play this?"

"Um, how 'bout subtle?" Micky winked and opened the door of the SUV. Ian sighed quietly to himself.

"Subtle. Yeah. I can guess what _that _means…" He followed Micky's lead and jumped out of the driver's door, closing it softly. Micky was already half way up the metal steps that led to the first floor motel room. The Englishman moved quickly and silently, trotting along the walkway and glancing into each window in turn. Suddenly he stopped and grinned. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a Browning 9mm and quietly clicked the safety catch off. Motioning to a door, he took up position on the right side. Ian crouched low and dodged under the window, standing to the left. Micky grinned at him again.

"On three…" Micky stepped back and positioned himself in front of the door. He held his left fist up, ready to tick off the count.

Ian nodded, waiting for the countdown…

"ONE!" Without any further warning, Micky kicked hard at the door, shattering the wood and smashing the door off its hinges. In a split second he was through the door and into the room, his gun held straight out in front of him.

Mountbatten didn't have a chance to react. The explosion of the door as it shattered inwards made him jump violently, spilling the pizza topping that had been millimetres from his lips down his tee-shirt. "JESUS!"

Micky grinned nastily. "_SURPRISE_, you SON OF A BITCH!"

Mountbatten made a desperate grab for the pistol that lay on the table, but he wasn't fast enough. The bullet took him in the shoulder, slamming his arm back against the wall. He let out a yell of pain as he felt the bullet lodge between his clavicle and the socket of his shoulder. His right arm flopped down beside him, useless, a pulse of pain running down his arm and across his chest. He stayed absolutely still, his eyes fixed on the barrel of Micky's gun.

"That's for Gary, old son." Micky smiled lazily and walked towards the bloodied man. "And this?" The gun dropped for a second… "Well, my friend, _this one's for Colby_!"

"Micky, no!" Ian felt a momentary panic as Micky stalked towards the helpless man. They needed him alive, for Christ's sake!

Micky ignored Ian's shout of protestation and brought the but of the gun across the side of Mountbatten's face. The crack of Mountbatten's cheekbone shattering as the hard steel of the gun made contact sounded like a pistol shot. The man let out a groan of pain and blood spilled from his mouth. Micky crouched in front of the barely conscious man and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back roughly. "Thought I was gonna kill ya, did ya? Huh?" He glanced back briefly at Ian and winked. Mountbatten let out a gurgle and Micky's head snapped back, a snarl on his face. "Nah. Not that simple, Monty. Not that _fuckin' simple_." He slammed the man's head back against the headboard of the bed, his fingers still wound into the man's hair. "You, old son, are gonna tell us everything." The man's head smashed into the board again. "_Every-fuckin'-thing_, mucker!" Micky stood up, still holding onto Mountbatten and dragged him off the bed, ignoring the man's cries of pain. He grinned brightly at Ian. "Righty-ho then. Time for a chit-chat, don't ya think?"

Ian smiled slowly. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. Can't _wait_ to hear what this little cockroach has to say for himself." He grabbed Mountbatten's arm and twisted it behind his back, snapping the handcuff around his wrist. He grabbed the other arm, also ignoring the yelp of pain as Mountbatten's wounded shoulder twisted painfully. The man was handcuffed and helpless…

"Let's get this scumbag back to the guv. She is so gonna want to talk to you, Monty old son…"

The burst of automatic gunfire sprayed the motel room, peppering the walls with holes as bullets buzzed into the room like angry bees. "SHIT!" Ian hit the floor, dragging Mountbatten down with him. Micky dived for cover, staying as low as possible. The gunfire continued, short bursts, pinning them to the floor.

Micky rolled and came up against the doorframe, ignoring Ian's sharp conversation into his radio calling for backup. The Englishman peeped out of the door and the answering burst of gunfire made him pull his head back in again quickly. He snarled furiously. "I FUCKIN' HATE THIS BLOODY COUNTRY! Seriously! What _is it_ with you people and your fuckin' right to bear fuckin' arms?!" He poked the barrel of the gun out of the door and returned fire, short double taps, trying desperately to answer like for like…

A window smashed and a dull thud grabbed his attention…

"_**GRENADE!**"_

**_TBC….._**


	14. Dead Man Talking

Disclaimer.

After last week's trumpets, the cello section of an orchestra and dancing girls, my budget for big production disclaimers is shot to pieces so…

(Cue tatty piece of cardboard with crayon writing on it held up to camera)

This is a disclaimer. I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. I don't know the cast, the crew or the bloke that books the locations. Nor do I write for the show, make the tea/coffee/do tequila runs or order Pizza for the cast. I do, however, own this story, lock, stock and two smokin' barrels sunshine, and I'll go all Guy Richie on anyone's arse who says otherwise. I also own the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and Micky Cox and currently keep them in a large Tupperware box under the bed.

Usual warning for violence and bad language, especially from Micky Cox (the man has a mouth like a bleedin' cesspit...) so if you don't like that kinda thing, go read some Harry Potter.

If I can massage the books/re-mortgage the office/mug someone rich, the trumpets will be back next time…

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Ian reacted on pure instinct. The dull green, pineapple-shaped grenade had rolled to a stop right next to his head. He had three seconds at the most…

His hand shot out faster than one of his own sniper bullets. He grabbed the grenade and hurled it back out of the window, throwing a protective arm over his head to shield himself from the blast he knew was coming. It was going to be close and _real _loud. It was like being back in Afghanistan all over again…

The grenade detonated in mid arc, just a few feet from the gaping window frame. A huge explosion blew what was left of the glass that clung to the frame inwards, showering the three men with shards of razor-edged shrapnel. Ian was too busy protecting himself from the falling debris to take any notice of the stream of heavily accented expletives that came from the corner of the room. The general gist of it though was that Micky Cox, after cursing everything American, was planning to get on the first plane out of LA and head straight back to the relative safety of England if he ever got out of this motel room alive…

A strange silence descended. Ian realised that he was still alive and carefully looked up from the floor. "MICKY!"

"This fuckin' country is full of _nutjobs_! Seriously! What the _FUCK?_"

Ian couldn't help a small smile. If Micky was cursing, he was probably okay…

Micky uncurled himself and looked through what was left of the door at the carnage below. Three cars were on fire, including their own SUV. "Bugger. Car's gone."

"It was insured."

"Well, there goes the FBI's no claims bonus then, mate, 'cause the damn thing's an inferno."

Ian shook his head and a small smile flickered across his face. "I have absolutely _no idea _what that means, Micky."

"Means your insurance premiums just went through the damn roof, mate." He scanned the detritus-strewn parking lot. "No sign of our welcoming committee." He carefully stood up, aware for the second time that day of the approaching wail of sirens. "You alright, Edgerton?"

"Fine. Ya know, I think being blown up twice has actually managed to restore my hearing. Who knew?" He slapped the side of his head a couple of times and grinned. "Yep. Clear as a bell."

"How's our house-guest?"

"Crap…" Ian flipped himself over and immediately checked Mountbatten. " Barely conscious. But alive."

"Good. Barely conscious I can live with. It'll stop the little shit from whining until we want him to start talking properly." Micky's voice was hard, emotionless. He held out a hand and Ian grasped it, feeling himself lifted onto his feet once more by the strong Englishman. As he stood, Micky locked his gaze into Ian's eyes. "Nice move with that grenade, mate. Guess we're even, then." Micky grinned and shook Ian's hand. Both of them knew that, after saving each other's asses that day they were now friends for life…

Micky broke the clasp and grabbed Mountbatten by his cuffed hands. "Upsy daisy, mucker!" Unceremoniously he hauled the stunned man to his feet and held the injured Englishman upright by the scruff of his neck. Mountbatten was swaying and blinking, dazed by the last few explosive moments. "So. Someone apart from me, Dee and Colby doesn't like you very much, Monty, do they? How's it feel to be on the _receiving_ end of ordinance for a change, you scumbag?" He shoved Mountbatten roughly towards the shattered doorframe. "If they're still out there, they can have the first shot at you, Mont. Think of yerself as, oh, I dunno, a human shield?"

"We need him alive, Mick. Remember?" Ian carefully picked through the wreckage of the room and gathered up Mountbatten's meagre possessions.

"Damn shame."

"All the same…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't worry. Our friends with a discount card at Bombs are Us have buggered off. Just a load of dazed and confused civvies out there, mate." He grabbed Mountbatten's arms and led him out of the wrecked motel. Ian watched the two Englishmen walk out of the room and smiled, shaking his head. Being around the Brits for any length of time was certainly exciting if nothing else…

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"They did _what_?" Diane barked into her cell-phone. "What, _again_? Jesus Micky, that's twice in one _day_, for Chrissake! No no, just…for fuck's sake, just get your arses back here in one piece. And Micky? _Sweetie_? _Try _not to become involved in the wanton destruction of any more of Los Angles on the way here, would you? There's a good chap!" She snapped the phone closed and turned, a frown creasing her brow. She ran a hand across her face and sighed deeply. "Jesus H Christ on a bloody skateboard, the bloke's a damn _menace_!"

Colby raised an eyebrow. "Not again?"

"Cox is a walking ordinance target, I swear…"

"What the hell happened _this _time?"

"Seems like they had a bit of a welcoming committee at Mountbatten's motel. Bastards lobbed a grenade through the window."

"Jesus! They okay?"

"Nobody was hurt, not for want of trying, though, mind you. Sounds like Mountbatten took a round in the shoulder and bashed his cheekbone diving for cover from what Mick said, but he's alive, he's breathing and I should imagine right about now he's going to be quite talkative."

"Um, when this is all over, you guys _are _going home, right? Because every time you turn up, things start exploding." David glared at Diane. "Kinda a bit of a signature of your lot, Dee."

"Hey, you can't pin those two on me, pal. I was here all the bloody time!"

"Any ideas who the grenade-happy crew were?" Don was getting jumpy. Bombs, grenades… what the hell next?

Diane shook her head. "Monty can answer that one, Don." She smiled darkly. "Don't worry. Give me an hour and I'll have plenty of answers for you…"

"No." Don stood up, slamming the empty coffee cup down on the table. "This isn't some vigilante torture session, Armstrong. You're in _my _goddamn office now! We do this _our _way." He turned and faced Colby, holding a hand up before the man could speak. "I said no, Col. This is a federal investigation. If we want to get whoever is behind all this, we do things by the book, clear? Besides, you honestly think that Mountbatten is going to want to talk to you two, of _all _people?"

"Don, it's not that simple…"

"…Colby, it is _exactly _that simple! David takes the lead on this one." Don's voice was hard and hoarse. He'd let everyone run around on a spree that had resulted in two explosions and the entire Downtown district of LA on high alert. He was taking control back…

Colby glanced at his friend and nodded. "Not a problem."

"Colby…" Diane began to protest but the big man rounded on her and shook his head. His back was to Don so his boss didn't see the slight 'cut' motion Colby gave the Englishwoman. Megan, however, did…

"No, Dee. Don's right. We do things our way from now on. Let's face it babes, your way hasn't exactly been a resounding success so far, has it? There's hardly anyone left standing and the only person who can give us a breakthrough on this is on his way back. Besides. We have _other _things we can be doing." He looked hard into her green eyes, some unspoken communication passing between them. She paused and then silently nodded.

Megan frowned, shooting a look at David. He'd noticed it too. Neither of them wanted to consider what the _other _things that Colby and Diane had planned were…

33333333

Mountbatten sat in the interrogation room, fully aware that his every move was being watched. Once he had arrived at the FBI's offices he had been ushered quickly into a room, the door locked firmly behind him. He could hear a heated conversation outside between Micky Cox and an American – probably Granger. Damn. All of them were still alive…

A medic had attended to his shoulder and cheekbone, but for the past hour he hadn't seen or heard from anyone. Then a black agent had come into the room. Mountbatten recognised him from the hospital… Sinclair? Yes, that was it. Sinclair. Seemed to be the only reasonable one around here…

"How's your shoulder?" David clicked the door locked and leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Hurts like a bastard."

"Should've dropped to the floor quicker. You probably wouldn't've gotten a stray bullet in your arm otherwise."

Mountbatten let out a short laugh. "Is that what Cox told ya? That I copped this in the crossfire? Mate, you shouldn't believe a damn word that Cockney bastard says. He's Dee's little yes-boy. He'll say anything to save his own sorry backside."

"So you're saying Micky Cox shot you?"

"Just came in and bam! Straight in the shoulder. I mean, there's me, lying _unarmed _on the bed and the fucker just pumps a round into me for the sheer hell of it! I ask you. Is that the act of a rational human being? He did this, as well." Mountbatten pointed to his bruised and swollen cheek. "There's no way you could class _that _as self defence, my friend." He watched David walk around the table and sit down in front of him. This wasn't what he'd expected… "So. Where's Armstrong? Isn't she gonna come in here and start doin' all that Ninja shit she does to get me to talk?"

David shook his head. "Nope. Just me." Mountbatten looked puzzled. Exactly the effect they wanted… David smiled quietly at the Englishman. "You see, what _we _want to talk to you about is a list of federal offences, _my friend. _Carried out on American soil. So," David shrugged. "Diane's got no jurisdiction here. Colby's so pissed at you that there's a good chance he'd snap your neck the second he walked through the door, and Micky…Well, Micky's the same as Diane. No jurisdiction." He shrugged again. "So that leaves me." He leaned back in his chair and opened a file. "So let's start at the beginning, shall we? British Intelligence has given me full access to your military jacket. Seems you weren't exactly popular in the SAS, Phil."

"Have you ever _met _that lot? Bunch of elitist bastards who think they're better than everyone else." He tapped the side of his head with a finger. "Thinkin' for _yourself_ ain't allowed, mate. Not part of the 'Regimental way'." His voice was full of sneering sarcasm.

"That's not what Granger says."

"What the fuck would he know? He's a yank. God alone knows how he ended up working with our lot. The regiment doesn't even like the _British _bloody army, let alone the Americans!" He smirked. "Reckon the only reason Granger ended up working with the SAS is because he was sleeping with the field commander, know what I mean?"

Behind the two-way glass, Colby shook his head and chuckled. "Man, this guy really is something else."

Don looked at Colby, frowning. "This doesn't bother you? What he's sayin' about you and Diane?"

"Hell no! What, I should get worked up about some brainless wonder like this? Are you actually hearing the same crap as I am? Because really? He's just chattering to kill time. Try and give himself the appearance of co-operating, all friendly, puttin' the onus on everyone else. Trying to make David think he's the injured party here." Colby laughed again and nodded towards the room and Mountbatten. "I mean, who in the hell disses their own goddamn regiment? Not exactly a _professional _soldier, Don. The only thing that _does _wind me up is the fact that good people have died because of this bastard. _That_? Yeah, that _does_ piss me off." Don grunted in agreement and they turned their attention back to the interrogation. But Don couldn't help noticing that the laugh that Colby had let out had an edge to it. An edge that hinted of real anger behind his casual, laid-back exterior…

Back in the room, David smiled to himself quietly and shook his head. Mountbatten frowned. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothin'. Just that I've _so _gotta be there when Granger finally catches up with you." David chuckled again.

"I thought you said that you were doing this so-called interrogation."

"Did I? Well…" David smiled to himself, as if laughing at some private joke. "Let's just say I'm doin' the _first _part of it." The smile vanished. "Who tried to kill you at the motel?"

"Micky fucking Cox, that's who!"

"You know what I'm talking about. Who started throwing grenades around, Phil?"

"I have no idea."

"Oh, c'_mon_…"

"Seriously!"

"So you seriously have no idea why someone would want to see you dead enough to throw a live grenade through your window?"

"Really."

David smiled, a disbelieving lilt to his voice. "Say something to convince me of that."

Mountbatten sighed and mockingly answered. "_Really_. I have no idea who would want to see me dead enough to throw…"

David interrupted the man before he could finish the sentence. "…So if we decided that, oh, I dunno, maybe we didn't have enough evidence to hold you and let you go, that they wouldn't be waiting to take another shot at you? _Especially _if we made it known that you'd been talking to us? Hmm? How long do you think you'd last, Phil?" David leaned forward. "Because at the last count, buddy, you got a whole list of people gunnin' for your ass. Let's see, there's the SAS," he held up a finger, "and I reckon normally I'd stop counting at that because I know how good they are, Phil, despite your opinion otherwise. But then, ya see, the list goes on, doesn't it? Because then there's _Colby_, isn't there?" He held up a second finger, "Now despite the fact that he's an FBI agent and sworn to protect and serve, he _does _kinda have his own, shall we say, _agenda _here and, well, let's put it this way. I've known him to put his own interpretation on the rule book now and then, ya know? Believe me my friend, that is one man you do _not _wanna cross swords with. Especially after you've tried to run him off the road in a semi, kill his friends and accuse him of dishonourable conduct with a senior officer in front of him. Out of the three? I'm guessing that last one is the one that'll _really _grind his gears, ya know?" David jabbed a thumb towards the glass of the two-way mirror and smiled at Mountbatten. "Oh, yeah, my friend, he's standing just inches away, listening to every word that comes out of your mouth. Why do ya think I locked the door behind me when I came in? And you know what else, Phil? I think that out of everything that's going on here, Colby and Diane are the ones that you're most worried about right now, aren't they? Because you know that there isn't anywhere you could run to that would be far enough away from them, is there?"

Phil stared blankly at David and snarled a defiant reply. "There's a lot of ifs and buts there, pal. You think I'm scared of those two nutters? Go unlock the door, mate. Let the bastards in. Let's see who gets to _walk back out again!" _

David sat back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, my money's on Granger, buddy. All the way down!"

Phil didn't respond. He knew that David had called his bluff and that both Diane and Colby were perfectly capable of tearing him to pieces in seconds. He was desperately hoping that being in an FBI office would protect him from that fate, but right now? He was beginning to wonder if the slender glass barrier and a flimsy door lock that lay between him and a man who currently hated him with a passion would be enough to keep him alive for more than a few, brief seconds…

David smiled again and held up a third finger. "Then? Well, we've got these guys with the grenades and the automatic machine pistols, who, from what Ian and Micky said were pretty damn determined to see that nobody came out of your motel room in one piece. I'm betting that they'll try again at the first opportunity because what you know, Phil, is enough to make their lives very, very difficult. You're a dead man talking, buddy. And they know you've been talking to _us. _So really, your odds ain't that great, are they? Especially with a busted arm like that. Waddya you think, Phil?"

The Englishman stared in silence at David, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder at the two-way mirror…

In the observation room, Don glanced at Colby. The man's face was impassive. But then, Don had learned a long time ago that Colby could mask his emotions better than almost any one else he'd ever met. That's what made him such a good undercover agent. As Colby watched Mountbatten begin to squirm he seemed almost amused. But Don knew that underneath the passive exterior a dark rage was building up. Colby's powerful arms were crossed over his chest and Don could see the tension in the muscles. That was always the biggest giveaway with Colby. The next thing the target of the big man's anger usually knew about when he got this angry was a massive and frighteningly fast fist punching them into the middle of next week, the face still totally impassive and emotionless…

"Phil?" David waved a hand in front of the man. "You still with me here, bud? I asked you what you think your chances would be."

"Yeah. I heard ya." Phil looked back at David, the brown eyes trying to disguise the concern he felt inside him but failing dismally. He licked his dry lips. "Look. If I tell you everything, what's in it for me?"

"Nothing. Just the satisfaction of knowing you'll have a clean conscience. Enough for ya?"

"But…you've _gotta _protect me!"

David slammed the flat of his hand down on the desk – a move both Colby and Don had seen him use before. The sudden sharp noise made a suspect physically flinch because it was so unexpected. It disorientated them just long enough to throw their train of thought off the rails. Colby had taught David that little trick very early on in their partnership and David had used it to great effect ever since. Mountbatten duly flinched at the sound and it was clear from his expression that the tactic had worked…"We haven't _gotta _do _anything_, Phil. You don't have a choice. I reckon I can keep Colby away from you for a while, but ya know him. He's a sneaky bastard. At some point I'm gonna have to go to the bathroom and then?" David shrugged. "He moves _real _quick for a big guy. Reckon he'd get in at least a few shots on you before we managed to pull him off. And as for Diane…" David shrugged again. "Well. She's a whole 'nother bagful of pain, Phil, isn't she?"

In the observation room, Colby turned to Don with a frown. "Do I strike you as a sneaky kinda guy, Don?"

Don smiled broadly and nodded. "As sneaky as they come, Col!"

Colby looked taken aback and mildly affronted. "Gonna have to work a bit more on my social skills then, huh?"

"That's what David's always sayin', buddy…" Don laughed quietly at his friend and colleague, relishing just a few second's banter in the mist of a tense situation. Defusing an irate Colby was like trying to defuse a ticking time bomb sometimes…

Back in the interrogation room, David closed the file and stared hard at Phil. "The British have already started extradition proceedings against you, Phil. And I'm guessing they're gonna get pushed through pretty damn quick. So your best bet is to tell me everything you know about who killed Gary Parks and why someone ordered you to kill a federal agent, sorry, no, make that two federal agents and, most importantly, Phil, who that someone _is._" David sat back and waited… "Or perhaps you'd rather talk to _Colby_? Because, ya know? He can do things to you that won't even leave a mark_…_"

Phil Mountbatten knew he was cornered. He shifted uncomfortably on his seat, his eyes darting from David to the mirror and back. He leaned forward on the table and fixed David with a hard stare. "Okay. I'll tell you everything. Just keep that psychotic bastard and his bitch girlfriend away from me, right?"

David smiled lazily. "Deal."

"I was recruited by a guy called Nigel Winters in England. He told me to get the team together for a CPP detail over here. Contact was Nathan Peterson. Only Winters had other plans for Armstrong and her team. I was ordered to keep the team in position until Winters had a crew in place to take them out. Wasn't hard, mate. I mean, Armstrong? Yeah, she's a looker and all but she's a tyrant to work for. Evil bitch, know what I mean? Anyway, I had nothing to do with Gary Park's death. Truth be told, I actually quite liked Gaz. He was a nice bloke. Peterson told me I could earn myself a bonus by taking out Granger and Cox. How the fuck was I to know the two of them would be harder to kill than a couple of fuckin' cockroaches?"

"So Peterson gave you the orders?"

"All the way, mate."

"And how much was he paying you? How much was this bonus?"

"Two million. Guess I ain't gonna see that any time soon, huh?"

"That's a hell of a bonus."

"It was a once in a lifetime job. Killing a fed and an ex-SAS soldier? C'mon, I'd be runnin' for the rest of my damn life!"

"What about Diane? Was she part of this bonus package of yours?"

"Nah. I wasn't to touch Diane. Apparently they've got something special lined up for her."

"Who's they?"

"No idea. That was the deal. No questions."

"Not enough, Phil…"

"I swear! I have no idea who's pulling the strings here, mate! You want that answer? You go talk to Peterson!"

"Peterson's the middle man?"

"Bet your life on it, pal." David stood up quickly and picked up the file. Mountbatten looked at him quizzically. "Hey, where are you going?"

David smiled nastily and glanced over at the two way mirror. He slowly looked back at Mountbatten, that lazy, nasty smile still on his lips. "_Bathroom break…"_

_**TBC….**_


	15. Secrets and Lies

Disclaimer

The trumpets won't appear. Nor the blasted dancing girls. Something about bloody Union dues, residuals, unfair working conditions, they're waiting to see what the SAG members vote for, yada yada – to be honest I zoned out after the word 'Union'…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, the usual disclaimer applies, with or without a grand entrance. No, I don't own anything to do with Numb3rs. No, I don't work for the show/know anybody involved with the show/have any outstanding injunctions against me telling me to _stay the hell away _from the set (delete as applicable). But this 'ere story? Aaaaallllll mine, buddy. _All _mine. As are the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and Micky 'smart-arse' Cox. They're mine, I created them and I can _destroy them if I want! MWHAHAHAHA! _

Beat

A-hem. Sorry 'bout that. Bit too much coffee, you know how it is…

Usual warning for violence and strong language as well as rampant Cockney rhyming slang which should confuse the hell out of my American friends but give the Brits a good laugh…

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"All roads lead to Peterson then, huh?" Colby watched as David unlocked the door and left the interrogation room. He smiled quietly to himself as he watched a very nervous Phil Mountbatten look nervously at the two-way mirror. "Monty looks a little edgy."

"Well? Wouldn't you? David's just told him that you're standing right here and he now thinks that you're about to go in there and tear his throat out. Hell, Col, I'd be nervous!"

Colby, his arms still crossed and the tension in the muscles still very much apparent to Don, turned, that chilling smile still playing around the corner of his lips. "Yeah. It'd be such a shame to disappoint him now, waddya say?"

"Col…"

Colby let out a short laugh and shook his head. "Don, don't worry. I'm _not _gonna start beating on him, bud. I'm better than that." Colby patted Don on the shoulder and walked out of the observation room. His reassurances didn't convince Don one little bit...

Colby walked towards the interrogation room, planning in his mind his own version of a 'little chat' with Mountbatten. He glanced up as his friend and partner blocked his path. David still had the file in his hand and held it out to him. "We tag-teaming him then?"

"Hey bud, you've done all the preparation. I'm just gonna, ya know. Go in and drag out what he's keeping back."

"You think he's holding out?"

"Of course. C'mon, David, you heard him. That was the biggest bunch of BS you or I have ever heard! He was a little too quick to finger Peterson. And he knows more about what these bastards are planning."

"You're thinking about what he said about Diane, right?"

"David, if I can stop these people getting to her, no matter what it takes, I gotta try. I owe her, bud."

David frowned. "There's a couple of things there that are kinda making me wonder if you're not...well, if you're not too close to this Col."

"Waddya mean?"

That was the good thing about their relationship. David felt that no matter what, he could speak his mind to his friend. Colby may not want to hear what he had to say, but he knew that the man would always listen… "Look, man. I know you and Diane have this…_real_ complicated history, buddy. And you've both been through a lot recently. I just don't want it clouding your judgement, is all."

"My judgement's fine, David."

"You sure of that?"

Colby sighed. "Yes, David. I'm sure." He smiled and laid a friendly hand on his partner's shoulder. "You guys need to stop worrying about me, man. I'm big enough to take care of things."

"That's not what worries me, Col. Just…look, I know what kind of a temper you've got. I don't wanna have to step up for you if there's an investigation into suspect abuse, ya know?"

"David, give me some credit here, will you? Jesus, man, I've just had this self-same conversation with Don! What _is _it with you guys? You think I'm gonna go in there and kill the son of a bitch? I don't want _revenge_, David. I want _justice._"

David nodded, but Colby had a look in his eyes that made his partner nervous. He'd seen that look before. When Don had been stabbed, Colby had come down frighteningly hard on a suspect. David knew full well what Colby was capable of, even if he did give off the air of being laid back and easy going. There was another side to Colby Granger – one that made David genuinely fear for Mountbatten's safety…

33333333

Micky Cox sat in the tech room, studying the computer screen intently. A soft click of a door opening behind him made his eyes flicker. "Guv."

Diane Armstrong closed the door behind her and held out a coffee. "Thought you might need this, old son. Been a hell of a long shift."

"Too bloody long. I'm going cross-eyed looking at this faffin' screen. These buggers never heard of VistaPro? Ya know? Nice, easy to navigate drop down windows?"

Diane laughed quietly. "Mate, they don't even know what proper _sugar_ is. They use some artifical crap, Splendid or Splendour or whatever the hell they call it. God alone knows but it tastes like a United Chemicals rep took a piss in my damn coffee!" She took a mouthful and winced. "Seriously. I'd give up every medal I own for a decent cup of PG Tips!"

"Tea's kind of a touchy subject with the Yanks, guv. Ya know. Boston and all."

"Bugger that. All I want is a decent cup of rosy and I'd be happy. What ya got?" She sat down next to her colleague and studied the screen.

"Flash drive I told you about. I thought it was one of mine I'd got my mits on but it turns out it wasn't."

"Who's was it?"

"Monty's."

Diane grinned broadly. "You're bleedin' kidding me! Really? And?"

Micky clicked on the mouse and tapped a few keys. Diane noticed how tense his hand was… A jumble of information cascaded onto the screen, the cursor blinking furiously at the end of a line. "Monty copied every piece of information he had onto this flash-drive. I'm thinking it was some kind of insurance policy for him if things went tits. The whole lot was encrypted but the bleedin' amateur left a back door open. I just opened it in DOS and went around the booby traps. Ya know, if there's one thing that really narks me off it's people who don't know how to encrypt a CEMOS chip properly!" Again, Diane noticed an almost forced edge to Micky's normally jovial London accent, but she played along…

"If that's the thing that causes you to loose sleep at night then you, my friend, are a very, very strange little man. You try the default settings? That should give you full entry on the pp stuff."

"Guv, you sure you're not a tech?"

"Intelligence officer, Mick. You're the tech. Although I must admit I have picked up a bit of geek from working with you over the years."

"I strongly deny that I'm a geek." Micky looked hurt.

"Suck it up, Cox. Now what does our rank amateur have on his flash drive?"

"Names, dates, payoffs, contact numbers, the whole nine yards. And…well, there's this, guv." Micky highlighted a line of code and typed quickly. Diane leaned forward and her eyes widened. "I...I wanted to run this by you first ." Micky turned to his partner, a deadly serious expression on his face. "I've sent the relevant intel through to Mark. If this has been passed on to the Taliban then our lads are in serious trouble. I've sent it through to MI6 and Hereford as well. Bridgewater has gone DEFCON1 on it. I-Corps is all over it." He glanced nervously at his boss. "Obviously, I…um, yeah, I didn't send them that bit. Not yet. I thought I'd…well, like I said. I thought I'd check with you first. Give you a chance to explain." Micky's voice was hard, professional. But inside he was fighting with his emotions. He _knew _it couldn't be right - couldn't be true...

Diane didn't answer. She merely stared at the screen, absorbing the damning information in front of her. Finally she turned and looked directly at Micky. He could see she was horrified at what confronted her. Diane Armstrong had never been one to show her emotions openly in front of the men. But now? Micky could see that she was devastated. Her voice was barely a whisper and choked with emotion. "Micky, I swear to you..." She didn't finish the sentence - just shook her head, trying to come to terms with what she saw, trying desperately to find a way to explain it to her friend...

"Guv, Amber Room was a fucking set-up from the get go. Someone upstream knew all along and they played you like a fuckin' piano." Micky ran a hand through his short hair. "Look, Dee. I _know _that this is all bullshit. But this?" He pointed at the screen. "It puts you right in the frame, boss. Slap bang in the middle. I don't believe this shite for a second. Not a _single second_. You honestly think if I did I'd be showing you? Fuck no! I'd be straight onto the regiment and asking for an extraction team to pull you in and interrogate the _fuck _out of you! _Okay_? So I _know _you didn't do this, guv! But the rest of them? They see this, they're gonna believe it. Every fuckin', stinkin' lying word of it. And right now you're gonna have one hell of a job convincing them otherwise, Dee! You got some major hitters lined up against you and they're gonna see this as a slice of fried gold to use to fuckin' _fry_ your arse!" Micky's voice had dropped to an urgent whisper. "They knew that having you in place as a patsy would be an advantage they could use against the organisation. That's why they were so keen to negotiate with Langley to get you and Colby out of Kosovo, c'_mon_, Dee, you know how these bastards work! A British Army intelligence office? C'mon! They'd give their back teeth for a fuckin' oppo like that! They put you in as a sleeper, guv. The best kind. One who doesn't even _know _that they are. It's…look, guv. It's _not _your fault, okay? _Okay_?" Micky laid a hand on her arm. He could feel the muscles coiled like springs underneath the skin. She was shocked to her very core… "Dee, anyone would break if they went what you went through! _Anyone_!"

"I _didn't _break, Micky!"

"But that's what this makes it look like, Dee! Join the dots, love! How do you explain the fact that..."

"I _didn't break! _I'm _not _a traitor, Mick!"

"Dee, I believe you. I _do_. Jesus, how long have we known each other? But this..." He waved a hand at the screen. "This says otherwise, Dee. It's a setup and a damn good one at that. What we need to do now is _prove _it!"

Diane didn't answer. Her face was unreadable as she stared at the damning evidence in front of her. A muscle twitched in her jaw. She spoke without looking at her friend. "What about Danny?"

"Managed to get a message to him. He's gonna side-step the Yanks and come back in through Mexico. He'll contact us as soon as he's back in LA. Should be within the next 12 hours."

"Get the list from him and give it to Colby. He'll know what to do."

"Guv, I think we need to rethink our whole strategy on this."

Diane stood up quickly, her eyes still on the screen. "Loose this, Micky. Nobody else sees it. Are we clear?"

"Guv, I don't know if that's the right thing to…"

"I said _loose it." _She hit a button and the screens went blank. She ripped the flash-drive from the computer UBS port and stuffed it in her pocket. Finally, she faced her friend. Her eyes were dark and Micky felt a droplet of iced water run down his spine. "Remove any trace of this from the FBI's system. Their memory, backups, keystroke protocol, every-damn-thing. As far as they're concerned, the explosion corrupted the data. Or it was just Monty''s collection of porn. Anything. But not _this. And_ Micky?" She leaned in close until her face was inches from his. Her voice dropped to a whisper – every word falling like lead on his soul… "You mention this to anyone? _I will kill you._ Understand?"

"Yes guv."

She stared at him for a couple of seconds. "You're a good man, Micky. A good friend. I'm…I'm sorry you had to get mixed up in all this."

"Guv…"

She turned and was gone…

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The door opened with a soft click. Mountbatten looked up listlessly. He was tired, his shoulder hurt like hell and he knew that his world had imploded. The sight that greeted him just made things a whole lot worse…

"Oh shit, here we go..."

"Hello Monty." Colby smiled quietly and laid the file gently on the desk. He sat down opposite the Englishman, folded his hands and waited, his green eyes studying the man intently. Colby's face was impassive, emotionless. It made Mountbatten's skin crawl…

"Come to beat on me then, Granger?"

"Nope. Well, not _yet_, anyway." He gave the man a slight smile. In any other circumstance it would have appeared friendly…

"So, what? You here to psyche me out? Huh? Won't work, mate. I had the same interrogation training as your bitch girlfriend. Remember?" He tapped the side of his arm. "Regiment, pal. Fuckin' _Regiment_."

"You say that as if you think it's something to be proud of." Still no flicker of emotion, no giveaway in those eyes…

"It _is _something to be proud of! You know that."

"And yet here you are, not two minutes ago, saying how you thought they were all a bunch of egotistical maniacs, bud." Colby chuckled quietly. "Blowin' a bit hot and cold, aren't you?"

"Fuck you."

"You learn that response at Hereford?"

"What the fuck would you know about it?"

Colby's smile faded. "Oh, more than you can _possibly _know, _pal_." He sat back. "Let's keep this simple, shall we? One question. Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why betray your beloved regiment, Phil? Huh? Ya know? The one that you're suddenly _so proud_ to be a part of?"

"Money. And pal? I ain't the traitor here."

"Money? That was the only reason?"

"What other reason is there?"

"Tell me about Nigel Winters."

"Never heard of him…"

A flash of temper from his interrogator took Phil by surprise as Colby interrupted him with a snarl. The sudden change from a man who seemed calm, easygoing and almost friendly to a violent demeanour of dangerous fury was shocking. "Don't _bullshit me_, Monty!" Colby's hand slammed down hard on the desk, making the glass walls vibrate with the rifle-crack of sound. Phil instinctively flinched, unable to stop himself. Colby looked quizzically at the man and sat back, a slow smile of realisation spreading over his lips Colby's voice was once again soft, almost gentle… "What's Winters got over you?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"People are dying, Phil. _Good _people. People you served with, your comrades in arms. Now I don't buy all this crap you've been feeding us about you hating the regiment. And I don't believe you just did this for the money. So I'll ask you again. Very slowly, just so you understand. _What's…Winters…got…over…you?"_

"Nothing!"

"Gettin' _bored,_ Monty…" The smile was still there but Colby's voice had a dangerous edge…

"I swear! If anything_, I_ had the upper hand in all this!"

"Meaning?"

"I had…_information_. Information that could be very embarrassing to both yours and my governments."

"What information?"

"You think I'm gonna tell you?"

"Yes." The certainty of the answer was absolute. "_One way or another_."

"Torture is frowned upon in this new, golden Obama era, bud." Mountbatten smiled cockily. "Anyway. You of all people know it don't work, right? I mean, how long did they have you in Kosovo? Weeks? Months? And _you _didn't break, did you, Granger? Huh? Pity your girlfriend wasn't as resilient, though." He smiled nastily. "Mind you, after what they did to her, can't blame her really, can ya?"

Colby tried to choke back the black fury that threatened to overwhelm him. He stared motionless at the Englishman for what seemed like forever. "Explain." The word was hoarse in his throat.

"Why don't you ask her? Ask her, Granger. Ask her what she's been up to all this time. Ask her how she managed to get so close to Aranamov and his crew. Ask her why, when she knew _all along _who was at the top of the food chain, why she didn't take them out _years _before it got to that stage. Go on, Colby. I fuckin' _dare you! ASK HER!"_

"You son of a bitch…"

"What's the matter, Granger? Little too close for comfort, is it? Confirming all those little niggling doubts you've had at the back of your mind all these years? Huh?"

Colby moved frighteningly fast, grabbing the Englishman by the throat and forcing him to his feet. He slammed him against the wall, his fingers digging into the soft flesh around Mountbatten's Adam's apple. Mountbatten choked, gasping for air as Colby lifted him with one hand onto the tips of his toes, the grip around Mountbatten's throat tightening…

"You are going to tell me _everything, _buddy! Every _fucking thing!"_

"There's a flash drive! I don't know who sent it to me, but it was fuckin' dynamite, mate! I...you're...you're...choking me!" He gasped like a fish out of water as Colby shifted his hand a tiny amount and slammed him into the wall again. "Winters has a copy of it! Nigel Winters! He's flying in tonight! You wanna know the _truth _about Amber Room? Go ask him, you fuckwit! Go look on the flash drive! I…I can't breathe!" Mountbatten's face was turning purple as the air hissed in his throat, unable to move past Colby's vice-like grip. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp, his feet still weakly kicking, trying to find purchase. He was choking to death, slowly and painfully. Colby's fingers twisted a fraction, the pressure crushing into Mountbatten's windpipe…

"COL! LET HIM GO!" The door had burst open as Ian and David rushed into the interrogation room. Both men grabbed Colby, pulling him off the choking Brit. Finally, his fingers released their death-grip around the man's throat and Mountbatten slumped to the floor, barely conscious. Ian put himself between Colby and the semi-conscious man as David bent to check on the victim of Colby's furious rage. He checked for a pulse. "He's still alive, _just_. Jesus, Col!"

Ian pushed hard against Colby, forcing him backward away from the man. "Back up, Col! BACK UP!" Ian could still see the absolute fury in Colby's eyes – if he had a second chance at Mountbatten, Ian had no doubt that Colby would kill him. "Colby, look at me, _look at me, GRANGER!" _The penetrating gaze shifted for a split second and Colby made eye contact. "This is _not _the way, Col." Ian's voice dropped so David couldn't hear. It was barely a whisper… "This is _not _the way. _Okay_?" Ian raised an eyebrow, pointedly. "_Trust me_." A flick of his hand caught Colby's attention and he glanced down to confirm he had seen the hidden signal. He looked up again at Ian, briefly frowning before giving him the slightest of nods…

The exchange between the two ex-soldiers had been completely missed by everyone. Ian knew far more than he had admitted to, far more than any of then knew. Colby finally realised now that he had an ally – one that had been hidden from view up until now…

_**TBC….**_


	16. HunterHunted

Disclaimer.

Good afternoon. The disclaimer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. This is a recording. The author of this story has no claim whatsoever at all really no I actually mean it to the cast, crew or stories of Numb3rs. She does, however, have an overactive imagination and a ridiculously fast typing speed and complete editorial control over the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and Micky 'wash your mouth out boy!' Cox. She reserves the right to blow them up, shoot them or slap them into the arse end of next week at will and will have words with anyone who says otherwise.

This story does contain scenes of violence, swearing and general thuggery and the author feels that fair warning has now been duly given. If you don't like it, press hash for the operator. If you would like to complain about the swearing and violence present, press star for a resounding raspberry and immediate disconnection. If you would like to listen to some _really _annoying 'hold' muzak, press one now. Alternatively, you can leave a review or a message after the beep.

**BEEP!**

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"You ever, _ever _pull a stunt like that again, Colby, and I will _kick your fucking ass_, you got me?" Don slammed the door furiously behind him, rounding on the younger man. Colby paced the room, his face a mask of emotionless rage. Don watched him, trying to judge how to play this one. He didn't want to loose Colby, but his unpredictable side was becoming more and more apparent as each day went on. He'd noticed the man changing over the last few months. Something was wrong…_deeply _wrong… He leaned back against the door, blocking any chance of an exit. They were going to sort this out, right here, right now…

"When was the last time you slept, Col?"

Colby looked up, momentarily thrown by the question. "Huh?"

"Because I'm putting that little display of use of deadly force in there down to lack of sleep. Tell me I'm right."

"It has nothing to do with it."

"Wrong answer, Col…"

"Don, I'm sorry. Okay?"

"No. Not okay, Colby. Not okay by a long shot." Don sighed. "What in the hell is going on with you, Granger?"

"Nothin's goin' on with me, Don!"

"Really? So this is you, is it? The _real _you? You tellin' me now I've got a loose cannon on my team, huh? Is _that _what you're tellin' me?"

"You've bent the rules plenty of times…"

"…_Bent _them, Colby, not goddamn tried to _kill _a man!"

"I wasn't gonna kill him…"

"…Oh really. So you're honestly tellin' me that the red mist didn't come down in there? That you _didn't _loose control? That you're not _way _too close to this?"

Colby stopped pacing and stood motionless for a moment. He sighed deeply and sank down into a chair, staring at the floor, his fingers clenched in a tight fist. Don waited, giving the man time to consider his position. When Colby finally did speak, Don could barely hear the words. "I don't know what to do." Colby glanced up. He looked utterly lost… "I don't. This is…this is _fucked up_, man. All of it. I…I just don't know. What do I do, Don?"

Don pushed himself away from the door and sat in the chair opposite Colby. "You start acting like a professional, Col. You remember why you've got commendations for bravery and service to the FBI. You remember that you're not flying solo on this, that you're part of a team. And you _remember, _Colby, that this is a case like any other one. We take one problem at a time, bud. Don't try and tackle everything at once." He waited. No response. Colby was in a dark place right now and it was going to be damn difficult to pull the man back out… "Colby, listen to me. We've got one murder, two attempteds and the guy who organised it in the interrogation room learning how to breathe again. The Brits have already moved. Mountbatten's being extradited straight away and bud? I ain't gonna slow that down any. It gets one major headache outta the way. It also means that _you _avoid any comeback over that back there, okay?" He looked at the man hard. _"Okay_, Col?" Colby nodded. He knew he'd dodged a bullet but that Don wouldn't forget his lapse. There would be repercussions later…

Don sat back. "Okay then. So Peterson and Winters. They're our next point of focus, right?" Again, the big man merely nodded. Don's voice softened. Colby's admission of helplessness had confirmed what he had been thinking. The last psyche evaluation had red-flagged Granger as possibly suffering from Post Traumatic Stress. The violent mood swings, the remoteness from his colleagues, the almost obsessive dedication to his job… But right now he needed Colby focused. Afterwards? Then they could get Colby the help he so desperately needed. "So? Waddya say, Col?"

Colby knew that the phrase meant that Don wanted intel. Colby pushed his emotions back into their respective boxes and filed them away in the back of his mind. Plenty of time later for self-indulgent, retrospection. Now they had work to do… "Peterson is a major player in Hollywood, ya know. Stars, high profile politicians, that kinda thing. I've run a background check on him but so far all I've got back is a squeaky clean record of an upstanding citizen." Colby shrugged. "_Too _damn clean."

"Okay, so David's taking a closer look at that. What about Diane?"

"What about her?"

"Well, what's all this about a flash drive?"

"I got no idea, Don. But trust me. I'm gonna be asking her about it real soon."

Don paused. "Col? You think what Mountbatten said in there…"

"Diane _isn't _a traitor, Don. I know that for a fact."

"Do you?"

"Mountbatten's trying to cover his ass, c'mon Don, you've seen that play plenty of times before now!"

"Yeah, but I've never seen someone stick to the play while having his windpipe crushed, bud. He seemed pretty sure."

"Mountbatten's got ulterior motives, Don."

"I hope you're right, Col…"

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"Bugger. Bugger, bugger, _BUGGER!" _Micky Cox hit a series of keys, preparing to delete any file that had been downloaded onto the mainframe from the flash drive. The techs would probably have a damn fit when they found out that he'd dodged through every protocol put in place to prevent that kind of thing, but orders were orders…Micky paused, staring at a blinking cursor and a message asking him if he was sure he wanted to proceed. Did he? Diane had the flash drive. Peterson apparently had another copy. If there was a 'flash drives at dawn' situation and Diane lost that intel… Micky pulled open a drawer and rummaged around amongst the tech detritus that lay piled in a heap. He grabbed a three gig flash drive and inserted it into the system. Copy to drive F. The bar crawled across the screen, achingly slowly. "Oh for _fuck's sake, c'mon_!" Micky drummed his fingers impatiently on the edge of the desk, throwing the occasional glance out into the office. "Ah, _crap_…" Megan Reeves was heading his way… He ran an admiring glance over the willowy blonde but refocused his attention onto the file download. Plenty of time to turn on the Cox charm to Meg later…

File download complete. Micky let out a hiss of relief. "Thank _fuck _for that!" He ripped the flash drive out of the USB port and promptly hit DELETE. The screen went back to the usual FBI screensaver just as Megan reached the door. Micky stuffed the flash drive into his pocket. The blonde had sharp eyes but he reckoned he'd pulled it off. He spun around in the chair just as Megan opened the door and turned on his best, laserbeam smile. "Hey blondie. What's cookin'?"

Meg stared at Micky briefly, a sardonic smile playing around her lips. "_Seriously_? Did you _really _just use that line on me, Cox?"

"I got better ones."

"God, for your sake I hope so!"

"Really. Absolute _killers_."

"I've no doubt. Learned from Granger?"

"Do me a lemon, woman! I taught the boy everything he knows!" The laserbeam smile ratched up a notch.

"That explains a _lot_. Where's Diane? And what in the hell do lemons have to do with anything?"

"Out to get some air. She's been on the go for best part of three days. Needed to clear her head. And as for the lemons," Micky winked mischievously. "Perhaps I need to spend some time teaching you the finer points of English slang, Agent Reeves. Say, oh, I dunno, over dinner?"

"I'm involved with someone, Micky."

"Never stopped me before. Who is he? Some hulking great FBI beefcake packing a big, shiny 9mm Glock?"

"He's a astrophysics professor and, yeah, I've just learned a _whole _lot about how _you _think, Micky Cox!"

Micky laughed good-naturedly and stood up. "Meg, don't take _anything _I say too seriously, okay? I bow and conceed to the obvious advantages of a man who can explain the mysteries of the universe over a mere army tech head like me." He mockingly bowed to Meg and came back up smiling. "But hey, you ever get bored of nebulas and particle accelerators, give me a call, savvy?"

Megan couldn't help but laugh. "Deal. So really. Where's Diane?"

The laserbeam smile vanished. "Damn, you _are _good. Saw right through that one, huh?" Megan nodded. "Honestly? I don't know. Sometimes she does this. That's the thing with intelligence officers." He tapped the side of his head. "Always thinking too much." The smile was fleeting. Meg could tell Micky was worried about his friend.

"You're not gonna give me any kind of an answer here, are you Micky?"

"Sorry. Nope. Guv's orders."

"You do know she doesn't have any rank over you any more?"

"That's not how it works, Meg."

"The flash drive?"

"Just a load of old intel on previous ops. Nothing of any use."

"You're lying again. Look, we can't help if you don't share…"

"Meg, believe me. I'd _love _to tell you. Really I would. But Dee knows how to handle herself."

"That's not what I'm worried about." Meg glanced around to make sure the door was securely shut before she continued. "Look. There's other people's lives on the line here. Colby. You. Michelle Keel. Don. _Me_. Anyone who's associated with this. Now if there's something on that flash drive that can help…"

"You don't have the clearance, sweetheart. Sorry."

"Don't pull that crap on me!" Megan frowned, frustrated by the man's repeated blocking. "This has gone beyond security clearances and covert operations, Micky. It's out in the open. A secret isn't a secret if everyone knows about it!"

The good-hearted banter and easygoing smile of earlier vanished, replaced by a hard, thin lipped expression. Micky folded his arms across his chest, powerful muscles flexing underneath his tee-shirt. It was a posture she'd seen Colby adopt before. It didn't take a degree in psychology to read the body language. When Colby stood like that, a grenade going off wouldn't move the man or make him change his mind. She had a strong suspicion that Micky Cox was an English version of Colby. That's probably why they were such close friends. The conversation had ended… Megan sighed and turned.

"Meg?" Micky's voice stopped her as her hand closed around the door handle. "Just… Look. Whatever anyone says from now on, Dee's _not _a traitor. You understand? Not a chance in hell." Megan turned and faced Micky one last time, a puzzled expression creasing her brow. The soft brown eyes that stared back at her were surprisingly sad and filled with some very complicated emotions…

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"I don't know, Colby. Maybe he'll talk to you." Meg ran her hand through her long blond hair, pushing it back from her face. "Whatever's on that flash drive implicates Diane somehow. I don't know any more than that."

Colby stared into the distance, focusing on an unseen point past Megan. "So Monty was telling the truth." His attention snapped back and Megan found herself staring into two intense green eyes that masked their emotions perfectly. She had absolutely no idea what Granger was thinking at this exact moment.

Don watched his junior agent intently. After the earlier outburst in the interrogation room, he wasn't taking any more chances. "Who has the flash drive?"

"Probably Diane. She wouldn't leave it with Micky if it incriminates her." Colby's voice was flat and emotionless.

"Incriminates her in what, Col?"

"Amber Room." Colby turned to his boss. "The whole damn operation was a fuck up from start to finish, Don. We knew from the get go that we had leaks all over the damn place. Cleaning up Aranamov and Dicks?" He shrugged. "We thought that was the finish of it. But I figure we got that bit wrong, don't you?"

"So what's her next move?"

"The hunted becomes the hunter." Ian Edgerton had silently entered the briefing room without anyone except Colby noticing. Colby nodded in agreement.

"She's sick of being the target. She's got too much to loose now. Best guess right now?" Colby paused and looked at Ian, who merely raised an eyebrow in confirmation. "She'll go after Peterson and Winters. They've got a meet this morning, right?"

Don glanced at his watch. Where the hell had the time gone? "Yeah. So she's on a kill mission?"

"If she is, she's implicating herself even more. No. She's on a reccy." Colby stood up quickly. "I need to talk to Mick. Find out where their secondary stash is. That'll give us a start point."

"Their what now?" Don looked puzzled.

"Secondary stash. Their lot always work with a plan B. That's why they're so damn good." Ian answered Don's question softly. "The main flop house has been vaporised but you can bet a weeks pay check that they've got a secondary stash somewhere. Weapons, passports, change of clothes, money, car, everything they'll need if the plan changes."

The door opened suddenly and David walked in, holding a file. "Yeah? Well the plans most certainly _have _just changed. LAPD just filed a report with us. Peterson's mansion in Beverley Hills just got blown to pieces with a grenade launcher. They found two bodies. Meg, I'm sorry. Michelle was one of them." Meg's eyes opened wide in dismay. She'd failed the girl, failed to protect her like she'd promised to…

"And the other?" Don's voice was sharp.

David shook his head and held the file out to his boss. "Don, it was Peterson. They were both shot. Execution style…"

"Diane…"

"No!" Colby's voice was sharp. "Not possible. She's been here all the time. David, when did this happen?"

"About an hour ago." He looked at Don. "Colby's right. She's only been gone, what, a half-hour? That wouldn't have given her time to get out to the Hills, let alone shoot two people and blow a house to hell and back. No." He sighed. "Looks like we got ourselves another player, Don."

Don turned to Colby, but before he could speak, Ian interrupted him. "Winters. Has to be. He was due to meet Peterson today, right? Flew in on the red-eye. Question is, who the hell _is _this Winters?" He beckoned to Colby and quietly left the room. Ignoring everyone's questioning stares, Colby wordlessly followed Ian out into the corridor, softly closing the door behind him.

Ian waited for Colby to join him, making sure they were out of earshot and hidden from view from the others. "Look, Col. Langley are all over this. That little visit in the hospital proves that." Colby nodded wordlessly. "This is an elimination protocol, bud. Everyone, and I _mean _everyone associated with the operation is a target. You, me, Diane and Micky. We're the only ones left."

"Michelle?"

"Collateral damage. She knew just enough to kill her. Real shame. Winters is part of this, but I'm guessing not the _whole _story. What was Peterson's involvement with all this, Col?"

"That's just it, Ian. He _wasn't _involved. Christ, he isn't even military! He shouldn't know a damn _thing _about the operation!" Colby leaned back against the wall and frowned deeply.

"You said you'd checked his background, right?"

Colby nodded. "Yeah. Squeaky clean. Not even a parking ticket."

"As in _too _clean?" Ian raised an eyebrow.

"You thinking he was a Company man?"

"Connected at the very least."

"But to whom?"

"He had a lot of Eastern European clients, right? High ranking diplomats? _Businessmen_?"

"Yeah, for businessmen, read Russian Mafia."

"No Col. Not Russian. _Kosovan. _We knew the conduit ran through Kosovo. Aranamov had contacts there, right?" Ian noticed a muscle twitch on Colby's jaw. The mention of Kosovo brought back dark memories of a time of betrayal and pain. They never found out who had told the Kosovo authorities that Allied agents were on operations in Pristina. They never really found out _who _had been directly responsible for Colby and Diane's capture and torture. Dicks had merely been a frontman. The _real _leak had been much further _upstream…_ "Whoever's behind this doesn't just want to kill off Operation Amber Room operatives, they want to completely discredit them. That flash drive has evidence that suggests Diane was the leak. Col, look. You and I _both _know that can't be true. But someone's put together something that is convincing enough to put her right in the frame for treason." Ian paused, knowing that his next words would hit Colby hard. "Bud, you've been there. You know what that's like." He laid a hand on Colby's shoulder. "You gotta think, man. You know her better than anyone. What could they have on her and more importantly, what's her move gonna be?"

Colby was focusing hard on making sure his legs didn't give way from under him. For nearly seven years he'd tried to put what had happened behind him. Tried to forget the pain. The torture. Six months ago, it had all come crashing back into his life, prompting night after night of nightmares, waking in a cold sweat and a constant battle against flashbacks that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd barely held it together. Now? He had to immerse himself back into a blackened horror of a world he thought he'd left behind. Playing out, not in the dark, dank streets of Pristina, but in the bright sunshine of LA. His friends' lives were at risk. Everything he'd worked for was at risk. And he didn't even know who his enemy was. If he had a _target_, everything would be so much clearer. But right now he felt as if he was fighting shadows – ghosts…

Sudden realisation dawned and he slowly looked up, his green eyes darkening… "I know who the leak is."

Ian looked surprised. "What?"

"When Frank Miller came to see me in hospital, he said that Danny Smith was on his way back from Afghanistan with the original, _genuine _list. And that he'd ordered it to be handed over to him, not us." Colby stood up straight, a new energy filling him. He had a target…"Diane gave Mick a direct order. Contact Danny. On _no account _hand the list over to Miller. She must've known or at least suspected Miller. I mean, what were the chances of him turning up _that _quickly? Didn't make any goddamn sense, Ian. Smithy's coming in through Mexico. _That's _where Diane's gone! She's gone to meet Danny! She's gone to get the list. It's the only thing that can prove she's innocent."

"We need to be at that meet, Col."

"And we need to get there before Miller, buddy. Otherwise?" Colby left the sentence unfinished. They both knew that if Miller got the list, they were all dead…

Ian nodded and a flicker of a smile flashed across his lips. "Figure you're gonna need a sniper on this one, Col."

Colby grinned at his friend. "Know any good sharp-shooters who can track, buddy?"

Ian smiled darkly. "Oh, I _might_ know of one…"

_**TBC…….**_


	17. Trails and Retribution

Disclaimer

You know, there are times in our lives when we need to take responsibility. Need to stake a claim over what is rightfully ours. Need to stand up and be counted.

This is **not **one of those times.

I have no claim whatsoever at all no really I mean it over anything to do with the genuine Numb3rs. Consider this as more of a…Numb3rs _Lite_, if you will. The added ingredients of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and 'Guttersnipe' Micky Cox are my own secret blend of herbs and spices that old Colonel Chicken-Boy would be proud of and anyone trying to adopt them for their own ends will _feel my wrath! MWHAHAHAHAHA…_a-hem…

I take absolutely no responsibility for offence that may be caused through the use of gratuitous violence, bad language and appalling Cockney slang in this or any other chapter. You've had fair warning – indignant choruses of "My GOD woman, how _could you!?!_" will be met with a blank stare and a shrug…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo…

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"Where's she heading, Mick?" Colby stood in front of one of his oldest friends, his green eyes serious and filled with concern.

"Col, look mate, you know what she's like. She's trying to keep casualties to a minimum. She said it would be best if she was the only one who knew…"

"Bullshit."

"Mate, you _know_ I'd tell you if I knew!"

"This is _not_ open to discussion, Mick! Where's she meeting Danny?"

"Col…"

"Jesus Christ, man, don't you _get it_?" Colby grabbed Micky by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his face inches from his friend's. His voice was sharp; the Englishman could almost hear an edge of panic in it…"She's got fucking _company_, Mick! Company that wants to bury her, me, you and _every-fuckin'-one involved_! She's on her own, Mick, and for the first time that I've ever known she's _scared. _I can't protect her from here, man, and nor can you! Now _where's the damn meet?"_

Micky Cox stared back at his friend, the tension between them almost manifest. Ian looked on, hoping to _God_ that it didn't turn nasty. He really didn't want to have to try and separate the two men before they had the chance to kill one another…"There's a trail runs north of Winterhaven towards Picacho. About five miles south of Picacho there's a turning right that takes you towards the Imperial Sand Dunes rec area. She's got an hour's head start on us, mate. We need to move. _Now_." Micky's gaze was even and calm and he placed his hand on Colby's arm. Ian knew that Micky's next move could be an attempt at breaking the man's hold, or it could be a gesture of friendship, re-establishing their comradeship once more… Micky smiled quietly at his friend and nodded. "_Now_, Col. Before it's too late…"

Colby took a step back and let go of the Englishman's shirt. His eyes never left Micky. "I'm sorry, man."

"No need to say sorry to me, Col, you know that. But mate?" Micky raised an eyebrow at his friend and grinned. "Ever pull a stunt on me like that again and I'll kick your fuckin' arse all the way to Hereford and back, crystal?"

Colby suddenly broke into a broad grin back at his friend. Ian breathed a silent sigh of relief… "Crystal. And bud, you ever hold out on me again and it'll be _me _doin' the ass-kickin', _crystal?"_

"You guys really need to lay off the caffeine. Shall we go?" Ian's mouth twitched into a fleeting smile but inside he was seriously worried about just how unstable Colby Granger had become…

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The SUV powered along the southbound route 78, hugging the Arizona border towards Picacho. Ian glanced over at his partner. Colby had been quiet for most of the long journey, staring vacantly out of the side window at the passing desert scenery. Behind them, David kept pace and Ian had to smile to himself, wondering how the serious, thoughtful and by the book agent was coping with the slightly crazy Englishman who kept him company. He was probably close to either killing him or making sure they kept in touch for holidays and birthdays by now…

"You okay there, Col?"

"Hmm?" Colby glanced over at Ian. "Yeah, yeah, fine." Granger glanced at his watch and sighed quietly to himself. He resumed his vigil, staring blankly into the distance.

"Things not been too good for you recently, have they?" Ian needed to make sure. He needed to be sure that Colby was focused – capable of dealing with anything that happened in the next few hours without losing control again…

"Don tell you to talk to me, did he? Like last time, remember? Tryin' to get me to _open up?_" Colby turned back to Ian, fixing him with a stare that challenged the senior agent. "The motel room?"

"I remember you put me on my ass with a sucker-punch, bud." Ian grinned. "I still owe you for that one, Granger."

"Yeah, well once this is all over you can get in line and take your best shot, man, that's a promise." Colby's response made him sound tired and resigned to whatever fate had in store for him. It was a tone Ian had heard before in the younger man. Like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"I seem to remember you said that before as well." Ian flicked the wheel to avoid a jackrabbit that dodged onto the side of the asphalt. "You've spent a lot of time apologising to people lately, Col. How many more times do you think you can get away with it before someone turns it back on you?"

"You mean about the fact that I've been red-flagged by psyche and that people are starting to think I'm losing it?" Colby smiled sadly. "Yeah, bud, _I know._ I know that the catch-all phrase PTSD's been thrown around on more than one occasion." His eyes closed and he leaned back on the headrest. "How 'bout I promise to go see a shrink once we sort this shit out? Huh?" His eyes snapped open and he grinned. "Assumin' we all make it through this fucked up crap alive that is."

"Now ya see Col? Comments like that are exactly _why _you've been red-flagged. You're sounding to me like you don't really care if you make it through alive or not." Ian glanced over, his face deadly serious. "You on a suicide mission here, Granger?"

"And _again_ with the déjà vu!" Colby let out a short, sharp laugh. "No man, I'm _not _on a suicide mission. I'm just getting a little tired of everyone thinkin' that I'm some kinda train-wreck waiting to happen. Actually? Ya know, this is just like it was in Kosovo. Rulebook went out the window. Plays? Plans?" He shrugged. "They weren't worth shit. There's no manual for this kinda game, Ian, you know that. Just instinct."

"And that's something you're damn good at Colby. Instinct. I just wanna make sure that your instinct is tuned in, bud, is all. All our lives could depend on it."

"My instinct's just fine, thanks."

"Yeah? What's it tellin' you now?"

"That you don't trust me. That you think they were right to red flag me." Col stared hard at the man. "That yeah, maybe this time I _won't _make it out alive and honestly? I couldn't give a crap if I don't. I'm tired of this shit, Ian. Sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of being constantly doubted and having to prove myself every damn day. Sick and tired of being judged by people who are supposed to be my friends because they think my loyalties are divided and that I'm a goddamn _spook_! And _sick and tired _of having to explain myself all the damn time!"

"Well, then, buddy?" Ian returned Colby's stare. "Your instinct is _way off_ right now."

Silence flooded into the car. Colby sat back in the passenger seat and ran a hand over his face. He smiled to himself. "Man!" He laughed quietly. "Sounded like some kinda spoilt brat throwin' a hissy fit there, didn't I?"

Ian grinned. "Yeah, kinda. But hey. At least you didn't apologise!"

"Fuck you, Edgerton!"

Ian let out a genuine laugh. "Now _that's _the Colby we all know and love!" Ian chuckled again and watched the road ahead. "But Col? Do me a favour. No, actually, do _yourself _a favour."

"Which is?"

"Once this is over and you _do _make it out alive, go talk to someone, buddy. I'd hate to see you burn yourself out. You've got a good career in the Bureau ahead of you, Granger. Don't fuck it up before you've had a chance to do some real good. Before you've had a chance to show Don, David, Meg and everyone else just what you _are _capable of, okay?"

Colby didn't answer…

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"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No!"

"Are we…"

"For the _love of GOD! _You say are we there yet _one more time, _Micky, and I _swear _I'll pull this car over and you can walk the rest of the damn way!" David glared at the grinning Englishman who merely winked and tossed a Cheeto into the air, catching it in his mouth with a snap. He chewed noisily on the chip and held the bag out.

"Wanna cheesy Wotsit?"

"A _what_?"

"We call these Wotsits in England. A whole night-club full of fuckin' E numbers and sunshine yellow food colouring. More of a kick than a class A fix of Colombian marching powder, mate!" Up went another Cheeto. "Want one?"

"No, I do _not _want a…_what_ did you call them?"

"Wotsits."

"Yeah. Them. And…_seriously_? Are you _always_ this annoying?"

"Only when I know I'm gonna get a rise out of the poor bugger who's on the receiving end!" Micky grinned broadly and dug into the bag for another chip. He pulled out a Cheeto and pointed it at David. "And _you_, my friend, have _got _to loosen up a bit!"

David looked at the Englishman in disbelief. "I can be loose!"

Micky let out a snort of amusement. "Yeah, right…"

"Hey! You ask Colby! I can be just as loose as the next man!"

"Right now, David? Colby ain't the best person to be talking to about that kinda thing, mate." Micky's voice was suddenly serious.

David glanced at the Englishman. "You know something here? About Col? Something maybe I should know about?"

"Only that he's not in a good head-place right now. Same as Dee. Don't get me wrong, Sinclair. It's not a case of they're gonna start going all lone gunman, ya know, newspaper reports that end with 'before turning the gun on himself' sort of thing. Nah, with them two, it works the other way. They get _too _focused. Pretty damn scary when you see it close up and personal, like." Micky chewed thoughtfully on a Cheeto. "Like watchin' a couple of fuckin' Terminators in action. Same thing happened in Kosovo. Exact same thing."

David frowned as he watched the SUV in front of him swerve to avoid a jackrabbit. "What _did _happen out there, Mick?"

Micky stopped chewing and swallowed the last chip. He screwed up the bag and tossed it over the seat into the back of the car, ignoring David's frown of fastidious indignation. "Col's never talked to you about it?"

"No."

"Then it's not my place to either. Sorry."

"Look, Micky. That guy? He's not just _your_ friend, okay? He's mine too. He's my _partner _and I care about what happens to him. We've been through a hell of a lot and right now? My partner, my _friend? _He's in trouble. The kind of trouble that could end up killing him. So you _need _to talk to me here, Mick. I don't care where you _think _your loyalties lie, okay?"

Micky was quiet for a few moments, lost in thought. Finally, staring ahead, he answered. "Colby and Diane were part of a covert ops team that went into Pristina. I can't give you the mission details, David, I'm sorry. We tend to spell classified with a _capital _C in England, ya know? Anyway, it didn't go well. They were about half a click from the pick up point when the secret police caught up with them. Those bastards knew they were there, right from the outset because some son of a bitch on our own fuckin' side had tipped them off through Aranamov. Colby and Dee were captured. The two lads who were with them weren't so lucky." He paused. "Or maybe they were. I dunno. Anyway, it took us a long time and a lot of real nasty behind the scenes shit to get them out again. And when we did?" Micky stopped and was silent for a while. Slowly, he shook his head and turned to David, his face a mask of emotions. "Jesus, Dave, I've seen some pretty nasty crap over the years, but how those two were still alive is beyond me. They were a fuckin' mess. Your lot whipped Colby off to some high security hospital and that was the last we heard about him for a good long while. We took care of Dee and it took us months to get her back. Ya know." He tapped the side of his head. "Up here. I'm guessing it was the same for Col. Old Dee, she used to be the life and soul of the party, that woman. Could trash a bottle of tequila and still keep partying until the small hours. Had the _filthiest _sense of humour you've ever heard. But after Kosovo?" He shrugged. "She changed. Was more serious. Quiet. Reserved. And utterly ruthless. I miss the old Dee." His voice dropped off and he was silent again.

David probed gently. "Mick, you said to Megan that no matter what anyone thought, Dee wasn't a traitor. What made you say that?"

"Because she's not." The statement was blunt.

"No, I mean, why would we think that? It's just that…"

"You had the same situation with Colby over the Janus list, yeah, I know. We were on standby to go in if your lot didn't wake up in time to realise he was on a triple."

David's eyes widened in surprise. "You're kidding me?"

Micky shook his head. "Colby's one of our own, mate. We don't leave our own hanging. We were tipped off about the whole situation as soon as he was arrested. The NSA kept us in the loop all the way through. And if you tell anyone that, I have to kill you. It's in the contract." Micky gave the American a half-hearted grin. "This time? Well, we're the ones needing the help. Diane's a _good _person, David, I don't care what you think of her. Yeah, I know she kicked your arse a few month's back, but you gotta understand, mate. We work on a bigger canvas than you do. We don't just deal with national security, pal, we deal on an _international _level. And the stakes are that much higher."

"Just answer me one question."

"Shoot."

"Is Colby okay?"

Mick smiled quietly. "Oh, believe it, mate. Him and Dee? They're in their fuckin' element with this shit! Don't you worry about whether he's gonna be able to cope with this, old son. Colby's _fine_." He paused and glanced over, the smile now gone. "It's _afterwards _that he's gonna need your help, my friend…"

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The SUV bumped up the track and came to a stop next to a Kawasaki motorcycle. Ian killed the engine of the car and turned to Colby. "Think that's her?" He nodded towards the motorcycle.

"She always did love Kwaks. Yeah. It's her."

"Right then." Ian opened the driver door, scanning the tree line as he stepped out of the vehicle. Colby mirrored his actions on the passenger side, checking for the telltale glint of a scope sight or the rustle of a bush. The wooded glade was quiet. Ian moved over to the motorcycle and touched the muffler with the back of his hand. "Still warm. She's maybe ten, fifteen minutes ahead of us." He glanced around. "There's another set of tracks coming in as well. Looks like an SUV. Pretty deep, probably at least four occupants."

"OK, so we know she's got company." Colby shut the back of the SUV and tossed Ian his sniper rifle. He had his own rifle and two A1 9mm handguns already holstered on his hips. In a holdall was enough ammunition and spare firepower to keep both of them shooting into the next decade. He bent down and sorted through the bag, glancing over his shoulder as the black saloon pulled up behind them. He ignored the two men as they got out of the car and walked towards him. Without turning around, he held up a spare 9mm to David who took it and checked the clip.

"We going into war here, Col?"

"Probably." Colby stood up and looked at David. "Can't be too careful, bud. Hey Micky. D'ya drive David nuts on the way down?"

David laughed. "Put it this way. On the way back?" He pointed at his friend. "He's ridin' with _you!"_

"And there's me thinking I'd made a new bestest friend in the whole, wide world! I'm hurt, Sinclair, truly hurt! What, it wasn't enough for you to spurn my offer of cheesy Wotsits?"

Colby looked at his friend in amusement, who merely shrugged. "Cheetos. He means Cheetos."

"Trail leads this way. She's moving fast." Ian stood up, dusting his hands on his combats. "She's not alone."

Colby turned sharply. "How many?"

"At least five. Two heading north, two heading south, one directly behind her."

"Shit. They're gonna pincer her!" Colby slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Ian, you and I'll take alternate point. Mick, you're on the rear. David? Stay in between me and Micky. Watch the tree line on your left. Move out."

David looked at his friend. He'd suddenly changed. The man he knew – the FBI agent with a ready smile and an easy manner was suddenly a soldier again. The soldier he knew he'd always been, but had never really seen until now…

The four men set off down the trail at a fast trot, all focused on getting to Diane before her hunters did…

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Colby suddenly held up a clenched fist and the four men immediately stopped dead in their tracks. He motioned to his right with two fingers, pointing at his eyes and then the tree line. Ian nodded and he and Micky broke trail, moving silently into the scrub that ran alongside the path. Colby scanned the path ahead, looking for traps…

His eyes stopped on an almost invisible thread stretched across the trail. Around the trunks of a sapling a silken strand looped, held in place by steel clips. Colby followed the strand with his fingertips until he came to a second tree on the opposite side. On the leaward side of the tree a block of C4 was taped to the bark, the line leading straight to a metal pin. One brush of the chord would pull the detonator pin from the explosive and kill anyone within a hundred yards…

"Bastards!" David hissed in annoyance.

Colby ignored him and bent down by the booby-trap, disarming it quickly and efficiently. He spun around as the snap of a twig alerted him to footsteps behind him, immediately dropping his rifle as Ian and Micky appeared. He nodded to the trap. "Welcoming committee. Looks like they were expecting us."

Micky scowled at the offending explosive as if it were a personal insult. "Who the fuck told them we were coming?"

"That's what we're here to find out." Colby stood up. "Which way, Ian?"

"Path splits up ahead. Dee took the right. Her shadow went left."

"Then we go left."

David frowned. "But I thought we were following Dee?"

"No bud, we're following her _hunters_." Colby smiled darkly. "Right, Ian?"

"Right..." Ian returned the smile, knowing exactly what Colby's plan was. David felt out of his comfort zone. He was in the company of some of the best soldiers in the world. This was their environment, not his. Give him the streets of New York or LA any day of the week…

They moved on, ignoring the trail to their right and following the heavier, deeper imprints in front of them.

Without warning, a figure appeared on the trail in front of them. Pointing directly at the group was an M4 Carbine. "GUN!" The four men dived for whatever cover they could find as the figure sprayed bullets towards them. The crack of automatic gunfire filled the forest, echoing around the trees. Bullets buzzed overhead like angry bees as the men tried to return fire, but the weak cover they had from the bushes and shrubs wouldn't stop a bullet…

A second burst of gunfire echoed the M4. David swore and rolled, trying to stay as low as possible. He couldn't fire at the figure on the path – Colby and Ian were in between him and the bastard currently trying to kill them. The second wave of bullets ricocheted around him, slamming into the trunks of the trees and spraying shards of bark like lethal wooden shrapnel around him. He glanced up – the bullets were coming from the left…

He spun around on his back and flipped over, bringing his rifle up to his shoulder and firing into the tree line. All the time, he swore quietly. Look to the tree line on your left, Colby had said. He'd forgotten to do it. He'd fucked up… His finger squeezed the trigger and he fired into the tree line, not even sure if he was anywhere close to the source of the second shooter. He heard the sharp crack of Ian's rifle, followed by two more shots in quick succession. Colby's gun. He could tell that double-tap habit Colby had anywhere… A brief cry and a thud told him that Ian and Colby's guns had found their mark and they had one less bad guy to worry about.

A rustle and a dull thud caught his attention and he watched as a dull green globe rolled onto the path…"Shit! GRENADE!"

He dived for cover, as far away from the grenade as possible. The blast sent up a cloud of dirt and pebbles, raining down on him like hailstones. More gunfire followed – he hadn't managed to hit the second gunman and the bastard was emptying clip after clip at them. Bullets slammed into the trees around him. He was pinned. The gunman had his position marked out and was intent on finishing the job the grenade hadn't done…

A burst of rapid fire from his right told him that the unseen gunman wasn't the only one who had a target in sight. Micky Cox had waited to spot the muzzle flash in the tree line and had picked his moment perfectly. In the middle of another prolonged burst of gunfire, the gunman let out a cry and abruptly, the bullets stopped as he dropped to the forest floor.

"CEASE FIRE!" Colby's voice was sharp. Silence descended. "Everyone okay? Mick?"

"Fine. Son of a _bitch! _Where the fuck did _he _pop up from?"

"David?"

David couldn't answer. He could hear Colby calling his name. He could hear the English accent of Micky Cox cursing the parentage of the gunman. But he couldn't answer, couldn't respond. The waves of pain that washed through his body choked the words in his throat. He could feel his shirt sticking to his chest, the warm, dark blood oozing from the bullet wound…

"David?" Colby's voice had a note of concerned urgency in it. David heard running footsteps coming towards him, but his world was starting to lose focus…

"_**DAVID!"**_

_**TBC…..**_


	18. Sniper Zero

Disclaimer

Hello. Me again. Usual bit before we get to the good stuff about how I don't have anything to do with Numb3rs or the characters therein. About it belonging to someone else but me owning the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter and Micky 'did you just say that out loud?' Cox, Danny Smith and the story. Usually there's a smart-arse quip here about Tupperware boxes and feeling my wrath etc etc, but it's Sunday, I'm in a mellow mood and I can't find the lids for the Tupperware boxes so the characters are currently running around the garden, whooping something about being 'freeeeeeee!!!'. I just can't be bothered to chase them with a net and put them back under the bed right now. So god _alone _knows what they're gonna get up to in this chapter…

Anyhoo, usual warning about bad language, violence and Cockney slang stands – if you don't like it feel free to bugger off and read some Janet and John books instead.

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"Oh, no, no, _no _this is _NOT _happening _again!_" Colby slid to a halt next to his friend and dropped to his knees, cradling David's head in his hand. "David! Hey, c'mon, man, look at me, _look at me_! Open your _goddamn eyes, David_!"

Micky Cox knelt down beside David and ripped open his rucksack, pulling out a medipac and tearing the protective backing from a field dressing. He worked quickly and expertly. "Keep talking to him, Col. Keep him conscious." Micky tore the shirt open, examining the wound with the professionalism of a man who had done this many times before. He'd dressed enough bullet wounds in his career to know that David wasn't in any immediate danger but he needed to be evac'd out as soon as possible. "Lucky shot, bro. Well, maybe not so lucky for you, aih, Sinclair?" He glanced up at Colby, a serious expression on his normally jovial face. "Through and through. Looks like it's missed most of the important stuff, but we need to get him out of here now, Col. I can give him a shot of adrenaline and slap on a field dressing but he needs a hospital, mate."

Colby nodded and held the dressing in place as Micky firmly but gently rolled David onto his side to press another dressing against the exit wound. David lay still, aware of the activity around him but too far into shock to respond. He felt a sharp prick as Micky jabbed a needle unceremoniously in his arm. The effects of the adrenaline quickly took hold and he tried to speak…

"Easy, bud, easy." Colby shushed him gently, still cradling the man's head. "Listen to me, okay? David? You listening?" David gave a weak nod. "Micky's gonna evac you outta here. Sorry bud, but yer gonna have to put up with his company a little longer, okay?" Colby smiled kindly at his best friend. "I know, bummer. But he's okay once you get used to his quirky sense of humour. He's gonna get you to a hospital." Colby looked at the Englishman, who nodded. "Get him outta here, Mick. Stay with him. Call Don, let him know what's happened, but _after _you get David to a hospital, clear?"

"Yes sir."

David noticed the reply Micky gave Colby. Sir. They'd reverted back to what they knew best. As far as Micky was concerned, Colby was his commanding officer. David felt like he was part of some flashback shared by the two ex-soldiers. It wasn't a comforting feeling…

"Col…" David's voice was hoarse. The adrenaline had given him the boost he needed to stay conscious, but talking was difficult.

"Not another word, Sinclair." Colby frowned. "Just…for fuck's sake, stay _alive_, David, okay? Please." David could see the terrible guilt in Colby's eyes – he felt it was his fault that his friend had been shot. Just another piece of personal baggage he'd have to deal with…

"Col, this isn't your fault, man. I should've kept looking at that tree line, like you told me." David gave a weak smile.

"David…"

"Go. Get to Diane before they do. I'll be fine." Colby looked shattered – emotionally shattered. David patted his friend's arm and nodded again. "Just _go_, Col! Stop this before it's too late for anyone else."

Colby gently let go of his friend and stood up. Micky helped David to his feet, supporting the wounded man's weight and winked at Colby. "Not the first time I've dragged a lame duck out of a battlefield, mate. Don't worry. I'll keep him upright, hell, I'll even _carry _the fucker if I have to!" He nodded in the direction of the dead shooter still lying in the middle of the track. Ian was hunched over the man, rifling through his pockets. "You and Ian go on. And Col?" The Englishman was deadly serious for a second. "Watch your damn back, sir. These bastards are good. Not as good as _us_, but good enough to be a problem."

Colby nodded in agreement and gave his friend one last look. David gave Colby a reassuring smile and shifted his weight, trying to take some of it off Micky and stand on his own two feet. If Colby could see he was okay, he'd be able to focus on what needed to be done. Micky subtly shifted his own weight, allowing David to stand more independently. The Englishman was brighter than David had given him credit for. He knew exactly what Sinclair was trying to do. Trying to give Colby the reassurance they both knew he needed…

Colby turned and jogged off towards Ian, who stood, watching the younger agent approach. They were out of earshot. David saw a brief conversation between the two ex-soldiers and they were both suddenly off and running along the track.

"Well, mate, suppose we'd better make tracks ourselves then." Micky grinned at David. "You capable of walking or am I gonna have to cradle you in my arms like a ickle baba, Sinclair?"

"That'll happen when _Hell _freezes, Cox! I can walk." He looked down the now empty track.

"Don't worry about those two, mate." Micky's voice was firm. "They know _exactly _what they're doin'."

"Yeah. I know. But so do the bad guys, buddy."

"Nah! They're not even in the same _league _as Granger and Edgerton, old son." Micky smiled in quiet amusement. "You really don't know sod-all about those two, do you?"

"Beginning to think you're right, Cox." David shook his head and smiled.

"Top of the food chain, mate. Top of the fuckin' food chain. Shall we?" Micky's grip shifted and the two men made their way slowly out of the battlefield…

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"She'll know she's got company. The gunfire would've given her a head's up." Colby jogged alongside Ian, matching him pace for pace.

"Trouble is it's given the enemy the head's up too. Two down. Three against three. Better odds."

"Three against _four_, Ian. Don't forget. Danny Smith's around here too."

Ian grinned as he jogged. "Liking the odds better by the minute, Granger!" He slowed to a walk and pointed. "Trail ends there." He stopped, searching the ground for a clue.

"Okay, so they didn't just _rapture _outta here…"

"Nope, no biblical event here, bud." He examined a broken stalk, scanning the horizon. Above them rose a ridge – steep and covered in scrub. "Up there." The two men left the trail and scaled the ridge, staying low as they came to the edge. Crawling forward on their stomachs, they peered over the summit and into the small glade below. Colby pulled out a pair of field glasses and searched the area.

"No sign. No, wait…" He zeroed in on a spot. "Eleven o'clock." Ian brought his rifle sight up to his eye and zoned in on the patch of scrub Colby had pointed out. "Can you make out an ident?"

"It's her." Ian pulled his eye away from the sight and smiled. "Damn, she's good."

"What?"

"Look at the perimeter. Where she is? She's got a clear line of sight one-eighty. Back against the opposite hill, the only way to come in on her is from the north. That's bloody intelligence officers for ya. Sneaky bastards." He glanced at Colby and grinned.

"If we know that, so do they. And don't think I missed that comment about I-Corps, buddy. I'll have you know the ancient art of sneaky-bastard is a tried and tested method of operation for us." Colby scanned the north ridge of the opposite hill. "Directly above."

Ian put his eye to the sight again, scanning up and above Diane's position. "I see him."

"Has he got a visual on her?"

Ian's eye didn't leave the sight but he smiled quietly. "Nope. But I'm guessing he can see us."

"How come?"

"Because I'm looking straight down his sight. He looks kinda _surprised_, Col."

Colby chuckled quietly and pulled out a sniper's scope from his pack. He placed his eye to the eyepiece and calculated. "Elevate twenty degrees." Ian made a minute adjustment to the rifle. "Wind speed three knots, easterly." Again, another slight adjustment and then a pause… Colby's voice was quiet and level…"Fire, fire, fire…"

Ian squeezed the trigger gently and a sharp crack in the brush above Diane's position indicated that the bullet had found its target. "Hit."

Ian slid the bolt back on the rifle and smiled. "One down…"

"Two to go." Colby scanned the valley. "I'd like to try and keep at least one of them alive, bud. Ya know." He turned and smiled darkly at Ian. "Just for fun."

"Col, you're starting to worry me again, buddy."

"Those bastards are responsible for this whole goddamn situation, Ian. They're responsible for David having a bullethole in his shoulder." He continued to scan the valley. "We've gotta keep one of them breathing to find out who gave the order. And why."

"Agreed. It was the _fun _bit that concerned me, though." Ian carried on looking through his scope. "Movement to the left." Colby swung his sight around and zoned in on the figure.

"It's Danny. Shit, he's wide open!"

Ian squeezed the trigger of the rifle, the bullet sending up a puff of dirt at Danny Smith's feet. The figure reacted instantly, vanishing into the bush. Colby grinned. "Good call, Ian."

"Thought I'd give him a warning."

"I need to get down there."

"Can't see the other two yet. You move, you're exposed."

"Have to take that chance, bud. Anyway, they start firing at me, it'll give you something to aim for, won't it?" Before Ian could protest any more, Colby flashed his friend a brief grin and disappeared into the bushes, running silently, crouched low.

Ian sighed and shook his head. He knew Granger had plenty of experience in this kind of terrain. The layout of the valley was almost a mirror of the forest outside Pristina. Colby was in his element…

Colby slid down the steep valley slope, sending a cascade of stones and dirt in front of him. He controlled his slide by using the blades of his boots, digging into the loose surface and tucking into a roll at the bottom, aiming for a small outcrop of rocks that gave him cover from at least three directions. He knew Ian had his exact position and was covering him from above. He was about five hundred yards from Diane's position. Colby let out a low whistle, one short note and a descending longer one – a signal the SAS used. Faint and almost blown away on the wind, he got the right response back. Diane knew he was there. At least she wouldn't be tempted to take a shot at him now by mistake…

The gap between them was open ground. Colby judged the distance and most likely route that his enemy would assume he'd take. Pausing briefly to check his clip on his gun, he tensed his muscles and erupted from the bush at a flat run in a zigzag path. As soon as he broke cover, a puff of dirt by his foot told him that the enemy had spotted him. Every step was marked by a similar puff but Colby didn't stop. He kept his head down and fired blindly to his right where he judged the shots to be coming from. Above him, the sharp crack of Ian's rifle laid down covering fire for him as he slid like a baseball player on the home plate for the last few feet. Crawling quickly backwards, he aimed right and took a couple of shots before ducking back down again.

"Hello CJ. Fancy meeting you here."

Colby glanced to his right straight into the green eyes of Diane. "Thought you might need a bit of help, sweetheart." He grinned back at her and quickly kissed her on the lips. "You're a stubborn, stupid, pig-headed bitch, Armstrong, you know that?"

"Didn't want to put anyone else at risk, love. And, yeah, thanks for that psyche evaluation, sweetie, love you too! You're breaking every damn rule in the playbook coming here, Captain!"

"You've got your ass pinned down behind a bush in the middle of fuckin' nowhere, and if it hadn't've been for Ian giving Danny a warning shot he'd be dead by now as well." He grinned again at her. "You're welcome, _Captain!_"

"Bollocks, Granger."

"Got a way out of this, babes?"

"How many have I got on my arse?"

"Two left."

"Any idea where?"

"Nope, not precisely, but I'm guessing one to our left, one to the right."

"Bugger. Pincered."

"Yeah. These guys know what they're doing."

"_Not_ yer average pencil neck."

"Hired guns, babes."

"Right then. Danny's still exposed and thinks Ian's also an enemy target. If we…" A rifle crack sounded above them. Diane and Colby immediately ducked back down, staying flat to the ground. "Oh, I tell ya, _now _I'm just getting _pissed off _with this shit!" Diane brought her head back up slowly, her green eyes scanning the valley. A glint in the bushes to their left caught her eye. "Heeello…"

"I see him." Colby grinned as another crack sounded out. "Yeah. So did Ian. That's one more down then."

"We move towards Danny we're gonna be moving straight towards our last sniper. He'll have us in his sight before we even make the next bush." Diane looked at the layout of the valley floor in front of her and frowned. A sudden rustle behind her made them both spin around in the dirt, their guns up and ready…

Danny Smith landed behind them with a grunt, sliding into the scant cover that could barely hold two people, let alone three. He grinned through a mask of dust and sweat, bright blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "'Ello guv. Bin lookin' for me?"

"Danny Smith, you son of a _bitch_!" Diane smiled warmly. "I damn near put a bullet in your arse!"

"Yeah, somebody tried to a couple of minutes ago. Took the oppo to do a rabbit while the happy sniper up there was shooting at Colby. Still damn quick on yer feet, Yank, ain't ya? We've got at least two left, one behind me and one on that ridge up there."

"One, Danny. The guy on the ridge is with me. It's Ian Edgerton. He's the one that gave you the warning shot." Colby grinned at the man and they shook hands briefly. "How ya doin', buddy?"

"Hello Col. Good to see you again, mate. And yey me! I've survived being shot at by the great Hawkeye Edgerton. Must be the only fucker in existence to make that bloody claim!"

"You got it?"

"Been chased half way around the bloody globe for it, but yeah, guv. All here." Danny pulled out a flash drive and handed it to Diane. "Everything we needed."

"Thank fuck for that." She unzipped a pocket and put the flash drive safely into it, making sure the pocket was firmly zipped shut again. "Now all we need is a bloody laptop, a latte and some soft jazz and we can relax!"

"Wouldn't mind getting my hands on the sod shooting at us, guv. We could do with the intel."

"Agreed. If Col's right and they're hired guns, he's gonna sit tight until the job's done. Even if he does know his mates are down and out. Trouble is the bastard's dug in tighter than a badger's arse in a thunderstorm and he's got the advantage." She grinned hopefully at Colby. "Don't suppose you've got any flash-bangs in that Bergen of yours, have ya?"

"Well, it _just _so happens…" Colby rooted around in the rucksack and pulled out a dull green canister with a pin firing mechanism on the top. "Made a couple of calls to a buddy of mine in the quartermasters at the local base. Thought we might need a few toys."

"Adda boy, Granger!" Danny beamed widely. "Yer never happier than when yer blowin' shit up, are ya? As bad as Gary was, you are!"

Colby grinned and pulled the pin out. "Yeah. This one's for Gary!" He hurled the canister in front of them and they all ducked as the detonator blew. A thick cloud of smoke billowed around the valley floor, giving them enough cover to sprint from their foxhole and towards the western end of the canyon. Overhead, Ian laid down more covering fire towards where they believed the last sniper to be hiding out. A crack of return fire confirmed his position. The three soldiers split up and scrabbled up the steep slope, the smoke from the grenade still covering their movement sufficiently to prevent the sniper getting a clear shot at any of them.

Danny Smith spotted the crouched figure and sprinted towards him. The man reacted too slowly and before he could take a shot at the advancing Englishman, Smith was on him, rabbit-punching the man on the back of the head with the butt of his Browning 9mm pistol. "Judo _chop!" _The man slumped forward in the dirt, unconscious.

Colby slid to a stop and raised an eyebrow at his friend. "_Judo chop_?"

"Watched Austin Powers on the plane over. Thought it was appropriate!" Danny grinned and winked at his friend. "One enemy agent captured, Col. Want me to kick the crap outta sniper zero for a bit? Ya know. Just for the hell of it, like?"

"Nope. We don't do that over here, Dan."

"You lot are no fun."

"Human rights, buddy. Kinda hot on it since Obama got in." Colby pulled out a radio and pressed the button. "We got him, Ian."

"_Good job, Col."_

Heading back towards you. We all clear here now?"

"_Yeah. We got them all."_

Colby let out a sigh of relief and crouched next to the unconscious assassin. "Okay, let's see who our ninja is then, shall we?" He turned the man over and sat back on his heels. The unconscious man was the goon Miller had brought with him to the hospital a few days earlier. "Fuck."

Diane's eyes widened with amused mirth. "Bugger me. It's fork-boy! Son of a bitch!"

Danny looked momentarily confused. "Fork-boy?"

"CJ stuck a fork in this little bastard a few days ago." Diane smiled briefly at Danny. "Long story, mate. Guess we know who's trying to keep us quiet then, love?"

Colby nodded. "Miller."

Danny looked even more confused. "Who's Miller?"

Colby looked up at Danny, a serious expression on his face. "CIA, Dan. The man who ordered you to hand over the intel instead of bringing it to me."

"Really? Bugger! Good call, guv!" Danny patted Diane on the shoulder appreciatively. "That sod would've topped me for certain."

Diane didn't reply. She merely stared at Colby, a dark look in her eyes. "This just moved up a level, Col."

Colby stared at the prone man, thoughtfully. "Yup." He stood up and dusted his hands on his combats. His face was unreadable, but they both knew him better than that. Colby was _pissed._ Their own damn people had been trying to kill them…

"What now?"

"Now?" Colby smiled darkly. "Now, Danny, we go after _them._ Like Don said to me. One problem at a time. Dee, you need to tell me and Danny. What've they got that implicates you?"

"The flash drive that Micky picked up had a copy of documents from our debrief after Kosovo, love. Well, more specifically, _my_ debrief. Evidence suggesting that I'd been released as a sleeper agent for the Russians. That I'd broken under interrogation and was under orders to sabotage operations involving intelligence coming in through the Pristina connection." She ran a hand through her short hair. "Col, I swear to you. This is bullshit. But the evidence on that flash drive is pretty damning." She sighed. "_But_. The intel Danny so kindly risked his arse for in Afghanistan…"

"…You're welcome, guv, any time…"

"…has the genuine Amber Room intel on it. Everything we got out of Kosovo before we got burned. It details a debriefing that Miller _wasn't _part of. I didn't trust the American end of the operation even then. Sorry Col. No offence."

"Who carried out that briefing?"

"Bridgewater. It was a Brits only party. No yanks invited."

"Seriously?" Danny sounded surprised. "No wonder he was so happy to help, guv!"

"How the hell did they allow you to continue operating if they thought you were a double?"

"Because Bridgewater's been suspicious of the whole operation ever since we got out of Kosovo. He knew something was hooey about the supply-line of intel. He put me back in as a triple." Diane smiled at Colby. "Ya know."

Colby laughed quietly to himself. "Yeah, I know. You should've told me, babes."

"Did _you_ tell anyone about your operation with the Chinese, Col?"

"Fair point."

"Sweetheart, our name is dirt in Washington and Whitehall right now. Miller will know within the next few hours that his clean-up has gone wrong and you can bet your last dollar that he's got a contingency plan that'll involve hanging us all out to dry. And that slimy little shit Winters is in town. He's a direct link to the British end of the operation."

"How?"

"Winters is an arms dealer. Tentacles in lots of pies, love. And you know what arms dealers are…"

"Conduits for the terrorists of the world, yeah."

"So. What now?"

Colby rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There's only one way to beat Miller to the drop."

"Which is?"

"We go public. We go straight to the top, love. Above Miller." Colby scanned the valley. "If we make it back to LA, that is. That bastard's gonna send more people after us. He'll be spooked, panicky."

Diane nodded but smiled. "And he'll start making mistakes." She nodded at Danny who hoisted the unconscious man onto his shoulders in a fireman's lift.

"And if Winters is in LA, we can take care of him." Danny grinned. "Oh, c'_mon_! I'm not having been through all this shit without getting the chance to kick _somebody's _arse, guv, and an arms dealer is as good as the next man in my book!"

Diane laughed quietly and nodded. "Sorry, Dan. The FBI are already on that one." She touched Colby's arm gently. "Time to head back to LA, Col."

"Yeah. But first I gotta make sure David's okay."

"David?"

"One of these bastards put a bullet in his shoulder. Micky evac'd him out. I need to make sure he's alright…"

**_TBC…_**


	19. Rotten Apples

Disclaimer

(Sigh) Ya know, after eighteen of these, I'm seriously beginning to run out of new ways of doing this…(Thinks hard) Um, well, there's the whole thing of me not owning anything to do with Numb3rs, ya know, yada yada. And then there's the bit about owning the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Micky 'Adda boy!' Cox and Danny 'Oh _please_! Lemme blow summat up!' Smith and the story itself, but that's about as far as my remit goes.

Anything else is entirely out of my hands and I absolve myself of all responsibility of any offence taken for bad language/violence/blowing shit up/Cockney expressions that nobody except Londoners understand/brain ache from all the double crosses going on (delete as applicable).

Yer on yer own, kiddos…

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"Granger's playing one hell of a dangerous game, Don." Megan scanned the apartment with a pair of field glasses, looking for any sign of movement in Winter's room.

Don sighed deeply and nodded. "When _hasn't _he?" He turned to Meg, looking for answers. "I've got David with a gunshot wound, Colby and Ian going all special ops on me and right now? I've got absolutely no idea how to reign them in, Meg."

"Perhaps we should just trust them?" Megan put the field glasses down and looked at her boss. "Granger's always sailed close to the wind but he's never once let any of us down. Think of the number of times he's put himself on the line for us."

"You're saying we owe him?"

"No, I'm not saying that. I'm just saying…"

"…that we should trust him, yeah, I get it. You think he trusts himself?"

"I think right now he's scared that his past is coming back to haunt him again, and that it's hurting his friends. That's why he's reacting so unpredictably, Don. Granger may be a spy, but his loyalty to his friends is something that he tries to keep separate, sacred even."

"What about his loyalty to Diane?"

Megan looked thoughtful. "Honestly? That's one relationship that even I can't get to grips with." She smiled fleetingly. "Colby said that it was like a train-wreck every time she came into the picture. He hates being part of that train-wreck but he can't stop himself from becoming involved."

"Probably because he hasn't got a choice, Meg. He was right. They're both just being manipulated by puppetmasters further up the chain of command. You were present at that briefing with the director. This goes way higher up than the FBI. As much as I hate to admit it, we're playing a supporting role here, Reeves. Inter-agency co-operation and all that shit."

Megan sighed. The briefing had been a revelation for them all. Finding out about Granger's latest undercover operation had been as much of a shock this time as the last. "What really grates with me though is that Michelle died for nothing."

Don stared thoughtfully at the apartment block and scratched the back of his neck. "Not necessarily, Meg. We have the evidence to link Winters to her death. Once Colby's team have finished with all this spy shit, I'll put in a very strongly worded request…no, make that a _demand_ that he be handed over to us to face murder charges." He smiled sadly at Megan. "It's the least we can do, right?"

"But Winters is a British national. As soon as we arrest him the Brits'll be all over it."

"Extradition takes a while to sort out, Meg."

"Depends on what kind of friends Winters has, Don."

"Meg, I don't give a crap about that. Nobody's above the law. No matter what they _think_."

"Is that why you hate the whole espionage thing, Don?"

Don nodded. "Yeah."

"Trouble is our own people are involved this time. Kinda complicates things a bit."

Don turned and faced his partner, a look of cold determination in his eyes. "Not in my book, Meg. Not in _my _book…"

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Ian pulled the SUV off the main road and the big truck bumped along a secluded dirt track.

"What the hell?" The man in the back watched as the relative safety of the main road disappeared in the rear view mirror. Colby turned in the front passenger seat and stared blankly at the man, the green eyes penetrating and utterly ruthless.

"Pit stop."

The man sat back and chuckled. "Yeah. Pit stop. _Right_. This where you're gonna shoot me, Granger?"

Colby smiled quietly and turned away, looking at the path ahead. "This should do, buddy." Ian nodded and the SUV slued to a stop in a cloud of dust. The man sat quietly in the back, waiting for the inevitable…

Colby turned around, his arm draped over the headrest of the seat, a jovial, relaxed expression on his face. "Guess right about now yer thinkin', okay, this is where they beat the crap outta me to get information, right? Or, like ya said, shoot ya. You can nod if you want." Colby smiled benignly, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. The man noticed the powerful muscles in Colby's forearms – they were tense, ready to recoil in a split second. He'd already seen how fast the big man's reactions were and that massive fist was potentially _real _close…

"And?"

"Well, here's the thing…."

Ian mirrored Colby's position and the man found himself being studied by two experts, both perfectly capable of launching a savagely brutal attack on him at the slightest provocation, both smiling at him as if he were a favourite nephew…. He felt claustrophobic – trapped in the back of a car with no way out, no witnesses and no way of calling for the backup he was so desperately praying for right about now. That bastard Miller had left him swinging. He knew that Granger had reacted and come after Armstrong. He _knew _that Granger wouldn't go in without back up and the son of a bitch _knew damn well _that these lunatics were experts. They'd taken the best team the CIA had out single-handed. He'd been with the Company for just six months. He hadn't signed up for this shit…

Ian glanced at Colby and grinned. "Him and me? We're the _good _guys in this particular scenario. And as for beating the crap outta you for intel," Ian shrugged. "There's no need, really. We already know everything there is to know about this whole bag of cats, buddy. In fact, every bit of 'intel' you think you've had? It's come straight from us. Question is, buddy, wadda _you _wanna do right now?"

"I don't understand." The man stalled for time. They were playing with him. Teasing him with being _fucking reasonable_ before they started on the blood letting…

Colby's smile fell away and he looked genuinely concerned at the man. "Listen, buddy. You've been with the company how long?"

"Six months."

"Six months. Okay. Not long enough to know how these guys work. Me and Ian? We've been involved with these sick bastards for _years, _my friend. The evidence Danny Smith brought over the border was what we've been waiting for. It's enough to blow their operation _wide _open."

"_What _operation?" The man scowled at Colby.

Colby glanced at Ian and nodded towards the scrubland outside. "What say we get a bit of fresh air?" He smiled briefly and opened the passenger door, climbed out and pulled open the back door of the SUV. He motioned to the man to get out of the car. On the other side of the truck, Ian got out of the driver's door and casually leaned against the hood, his arms crossed over his chest. Colby placed a gentle but firm grip on the man's bicep and led him around to the front of the car. He reached into the pocket of his combat jacket and pulled out a battle knife. The dull blue-grey steel of the blade glinted in the harsh desert sun. The man started to back away, his eyes focused on the knife…

"Wanna stand still there, buddy? Gonna make it damn difficult for me to cut that restraint if you're moving away from me." Colby moved smoothly and quickly, spinning the man around and slicing the blade through the plastic wrist restraint. He stepped back and the battle knife disappeared into his pocket.

The man breathed a silent sigh of relief and rubbed his red raw wrists. The plastic restraint had chaffed the skin leaving an ugly welt across his wrists. Colby watched him and chuckled quietly. "Thought I was gonna gut ya, right?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, yeah."

"Yeah, I'd probably be thinkin' the same thing too, if I were in your position. And believe me, buddy, I've been there. Plenty of times. What's your name?"

"What does it matter to you?"

"Matters a lot, my friend. Matters one _hell _of a lot."

"Mark."

"Mark what?"

"Mark Tyler."

"You ex forces, Mark?"

"Eight years a marine."

"So you understand about honour?"

Mark Tyler looked puzzled. "You actually _specialise _in asking questions nobody understands, Granger?"

"Just…_humour _me, okay? You're a Marine." It was a statement, not a question. Mark noticed that he didn't say _ex_-Marine and raised an eyebrow. Colby chuckled. "Yeah, bud, I know. No such thing as an ex-Marine. Same as there's no such thing as an ex-Ranger, Mark. _Now_ do you understand the question?"

Mark frowned. "I understand that you're fuckin' _psychic, _pal, but yeah, I get the question. Still don't get the point of it though."

"Are you loyal to your country, Marine?" Ian's voice was quiet but crystal clear.

"The very question itself is an insult to me, Agent Edgerton."

"Tell me. Do you think _Miller _is loyal to this country?" Colby leaned on the hood of the SUV next to Ian, studying Tyler. "Or do you think he's loyal to himself?"

"I don't have the relevant information to answer that question in the affirmative or the negative, sir."

"Okay, so let me answer it for you, Mark." Colby reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Take a look. Tell me what you see." He held out the paper to the man and Mark gingerly took it from his fingers. He opened the folded paper and read the contents, his eyes widening as he did so… He glanced up at Colby.

"This for _real_?"

"Yep."

"And you've known all along?"

"We knew there was a leak high up. We just didn't know who until now. Diane's reappearance on the scene and the whole nasty business with Peterson and Winters flushed him out. Forced him to take desperate measures to try and stop the truth getting out. Oh, in case you're wondering? A copy of this has been sent to my boss at the FBI. He's in the middle of what I'm guessing is a _real lively _briefing with the director right about now. I haven't sent it to Langley yet because in all honestly I don't know how far up the chain this corruption goes." Colby took back the piece of paper and pushed it back into his pocket. "Miller has been making a nice little business out of supplying intel and weapons to some of the most dangerous terrorists in the world for years, Mark. All of it hot off the presses and from the inside. Taliban, the Russians, the Chinese, Jesus man, he even sold the blueprints of two federal buildings to the 'Free American Alliance'."

"Those white supremacist crazies that blew up the Farmer's American bank in Ohio?"

"The very same. Mark, you've seen for yourself what Miller's capable of." Colby patted his pocket."

"And?"

"Wanna help your country?" Ian smiled.

"How?"

"Do you know what a triple agent is, Mark?" Colby smiled, the question so utterly ironic to him.

"Yeah. I'm looking at the goddamn _expert,_ Granger." Mark flashed a dark smile at the big man who merely chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah, well here's the thing. We've been waiting for six months to put this operation into its final stage. The whole point behind Amber Room has been to trace…" Colby grinned, "Traitor Zero. It's Miller."

"And?"

"We need to tie this whole thing up, man. And we need you to help us."

Mark laughed. "You're kidding me, right?" Colby didn't laugh back. He just silently shook his head. "Jesus, you're _serious_, aren't you?"

"Ian and I have been leading this operation since Aranamov died. Nobody on our side knew anything about it because we were worried that the word would get back to Miller before we had a chance to put everything in place. Diane's team coming over here was all part of the plan from the British end. It's been a joint intel operation all along." He glanced at Ian. "Damn, that woman should get a freakin' _Oscar _for her performance!"

Ian laughed. "She convinced me, buddy!"

Mark couldn't believe what he was hearing…"Whoa, just a goddamn minute here! She's lost _half her fuckin' team_!"

The two men stopped laughing abruptly. Colby's voice was quiet. "Nobody said it wouldn't be _dangerous, _buddy. Gary's death was a fuckin' waste. But it flushed Mountbatten out. The others died on operation and they died as _heroes, _Mark. David getting shot was _not _in the plan though, and if I find out it was you behind that bullet I will personally kill you myself after all this is over…"

"I didn't shoot Agent Sinclair, Granger. Farnell did. He was Miller's man all the way through. Your sniper friend here took care of him earlier." Mark ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against a thin tree, trying to think. He looked up at the two men and sighed. "Okay. Say I believe you. Say all this is true. Say Miller _is _traitor zero. How the hell do you expose him?"

"Winters has a flash drive that supposedly exposes _Diane _as the traitor. He's planning to give that flash drive to Miller in exchange for a shipment of M4's. _We, _however, have the genuine article. British intelligence have created a third flash drive that you're gonna give to Miller. On it is evidence that _suggests _Diane is a traitor but is in fact a full exposure of Miller's part in the entire operation. A copy of the genuine flash drive is being sent to the Secretary of State as soon as the final part of the operation is in place. That will expose Miller as traitor zero, but by then we should have the dogs trying to tear each other apart, making fuck ups left, right and centre and demolishing the entire operation from the inside." He shrugged. "After that, we just go in and pick up the pieces."

"You're setting the two of them against each other."

Colby grinned. "You catch on quick, buddy. Absolutely. _Dis-_information. Kinda my speciality. By doing so, we can uncover everyone involved, not just Miller and Winters. The FBI has been briefed to keep a very obvious watch on Winters. He'll know that the Feds are on his tail which'll keep his attention diverted away from us."

"Who _exactly _is 'us', Agent Granger?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you." Colby smiled. It was a cold, dead smile that held no humour whatsoever…

"Mark, listen to me." Ian pushed himself off the hood of the truck and stood up. "This man is selling arms to organisations that are killing our own men in Afghanistan, in Iraq and in countless other nasty little operations all over the goddamn world. He's betraying his own countrymen. He's betraying Marines and Rangers and everyone else. Your buddies, Tyler. Your _brother Marines. _He's selling information to terrorist organisations both at home and abroad. He's the rotten apple in the barrel, my friend. And you _work _for him."

"You rotten as well, Mark?" Colby's voice was flat, matter of fact.

"No!"

"So prove it." Colby reached into his pocket and pulled out a small flash drive. He held out the flash drive, waiting for Mark to make his decision…

A second truck bounced up the track and rolled to a stop. Mark glanced over at the car and watched as the Brits climbed out. For a few seconds, the three soldiers stared at him impassively, their expressions unreadable. Those bastards freaked him out. If he thought Colby and Ian were hard-core, he suspected that they'd learned everything they knew from the three SAS soldiers that stood silently watching him – waiting for him to decide…

His fingers closed around the flash drive and he nodded to Colby. "How do I reach you?"

Colby handed him a pre-paid cell-phone. "I'm on speed-dial one. You get any problems, you call me. Safety word is Mexico. You call that, we come get you." Colby smiled. "Look, Mark. For what it's worth? I felt exactly the same way you do right now my first time. Counterintelligence ain't a walk in the park, buddy. But we've got your back. You help us bring this son of a bitch down and you got yourself the pick of the crop for your next assignment, okay?"

Mark looked at the big man, searching for any trace of a double cross. He couldn't see anything. Colby Granger was probably the most honest spy he'd ever met. No wonder the man had such a reputation at Langley… Mark Tyler nodded and accepted his first counterintelligence assignment from one of the true masters of the game…

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It was the small hours of the morning when they finally reached the outskirts of LA. The rest of the trip home had been a full briefing from Colby about the entire operation. Gentle and expertly subtle questioning throughout was designed to confirm whether Mark Tyler was committed to his role or if the ride would end with an isolation cell. He knew one wrong answer would change the game entirely. As he learned more about Miller's treason, his resolve to bring the man down strengthened. The sheer complexity of the operation was mind-boggling and he wondered if he could even begin to do the job Colby was asking him to carry out. As they drove through the deserted streets of one neighbourhood, he fell quiet for a moment. Colby frowned, studying the man. "You okay there, Mark?"

"Yeah, I…yeah. Fine."

"Sure?"

"Sure."

The big man grinned at him. "Bull. You're crappin' yourself, right? Wondering if you're up to this?"

"Seriously, you gotta stop doing that, Granger. You're really startin' to freak me the fuck out!"

Colby laughed. "It's no magic mindfuck trick, my friend. It's basic psyche one oh one and first hand experience, buddy. You just gotta keep your wits about you, remember the purpose of the operation and think on your feet. And remember. You got _two _of these," he pointed to his ear, "and only one of these." He pointed at his mouth. "Means you listen more than you talk, okay?"

"Got it."

"Okay. Ian? Pull over would ya?" The truck rolled to a stop next to a Metroline station. "Metro should be opening in about a half hour. Get back to Miller. You know what to do, okay? And be ready. This guy's good, he'll try and trick you if he can. Just stay focused and…yeah, all the other crap." Colby grinned. "I was never any good at pep talks, buddy. Just watch your back, crystal?"

"Crystal. I'll be in touch." Mark opened the door but paused as he felt a powerful grip on his arm. He turned back to Colby, a questioning look on his face.

Colby looked at him intently, the green eyes boring into him, an almost feral look behind them that spoke of the potential for extreme violence and a merciless nature. "Double cross me Mark, and I'll take you down. Understand?" The words were soft but utterly chilling. Mark nodded, trying to match Colby's look. He failed…

The door slammed shut and Mark vanished into the night. Ian watched him disappear into the shadows and frowned. "You think we can trust him, Col?"

"What damn choice do we have?"

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"Granger, I want a _goddamn word with you!" _David marched towards his partner, his right arm bandaged tight in a sling, a furious expression on his face. Colby stopped in his tracks, watching the tornado of fury that was his best friend storming towards him. Ian chuckled and quickly side-stepped into the canteen area of the Bullpen, nodding to the three Brits who grinned amongst themselves and dodged into the glass-fronted room.

"David, you okay man?"

"Don't you okay me, you son of a bitch! I've just had a full briefing from Don!"

"Look David, I'm sorry I couldn't tell you what was going on…"

"That's not that I'm mad about, Granger!"

"Buddy, I _swear_, I would've done _anything _for you not to have to have taken a damn bullet, you know that!"

"Not even _that_, Colby!"

"Then _what_, for Chrissake?" Colby was at a loss. His friend was obviously pissed at him for something, but what?

David furiously stabbed a finger towards the grinning Micky Cox. "You ever, _ever _leave me in the company of that goddamn limey lunatic for more than an hour again and I will _personally _hold you responsible!" Colby looked utterly bemused, and David frowned even more. "Oh, don't you _dare _give me that innocent look, Colby! You knew! You goddamn _knew _what he's like!"

Colby grinned. "Oh dear. He started _singing_ to keep your spirits up, didn't he? Yeah, he does that…"

"A hundred and one bottles of beer? _Seriously_? Even the paramedics were talking about giving him a freakin' sedative to shut him up!" David suddenly grinned broadly and wrapped a welcoming arm around his friend and partner. Colby laughed sharply and hugged his friend back, overwhelmingly relieved to see that he was okay. David noticed how careful the big man was not to put any pressure on his wounded shoulder…

David stepped back, the fun suddenly vanishing from his face. His voice dropped to almost a whisper and he looked intently at his friend. "Why didn't you tell me, Col? Huh?"

"David, I couldn't."

"Yeah, you said that last time…"

"You think I _like _keeping you in the dark? I don't! It's just…"

"Yeah, I know. Just the way it is, right?" David frowned and he laid his good hand on Colby's shoulder. "You okay, buddy?"

"What? You're the one who got shot, David…"

"That's not what I mean, Col."

Colby looked taken aback. "Sure. I'm fine."

David nodded and took a step back, taking his hand from his friend's arm. "Just…look, Col. I know you can't tell me details of all this shit, but…"

"Cut the chick flick moment, David, okay?" Colby's eyes masked any emotions from his friend. Now wasn't the time… "And what in the hell are you doing here anyway? You should be at home with that shoulder."

"I can still work a keyboard with one hand, buddy. And it seems to me you're gonna need all the help you can get. Everything in place?"

"Don brought you up to speed?"

"Yep."

Colby grinned. "Then we're good to go, buddy. Things should start to move pretty damn quick from hereon in!"

David mirrored his friend's smile but underneath he couldn't help worrying if this madness was really coming to an end just yet…

_**TBC….**_


	20. The Guv

Disclaimer

I was going to do this disclaimer in the form of expressive dance, but it kinda loses something in translation and besides, I'm a crappy dancer sooooo…

(Altogether now…)

I don't anything to do with Numb3rs (C'mon, join in at the back, you all know the drill!) I don't have any connection to the amazing crew, industrious and imaginative writers, incredibly talented actors or the 'best boy' (whateverthehell it is he/she/it does), nor do I do illegal cigar runs to Cuba for any of the cast, write promotional material for Dylan's pizza restaurants or generally have any contact with them whatsoever (it's in a court order and everyfink…)

I do, however, own this 'ere story, the twisted and damaged characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Danny 'Cor blimey Mary Poppins!' Smith or Micky 'One hundred and one bottles of beer' Cox. They're mine, I can do what the hell I like with them and I'll Ro-Sham-Bo anyone into oblivion who says otherwise.

Usual warning for violence/swearing like a sailor on leave/Cockney slang that unless you're Guy Richie you ain't gonna get (delete as applicable).

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"So all of this? It's been an _act_?" Megan stirred her coffee, staring at the Englishwoman.

"Gary Park's death wasn't a fucking act, Reeves."

"You know what I mean."

Diane sighed and leaned against a table, the powerful muscles in her arm flexing. Danny walked past his boss and laid a fleeting hand on her shoulder, the contact reassuring her and trying to defuse the woman's frazzled temper. Megan watched how the three Brits interacted. Much of their conversation was unspoken – looks, simple expressions, inflections that spoke of hidden meanings known only to them. The banter between them was machine-gun fast and to be honest she had trouble understanding much of what was said between the three Londoners. They seemed to have their own language as unfathomable to any outsider as ancient Greek would be to a gang-banger.

"Micko? Wanna give these colonials the s-p?"

Micky perched on the edge of a table and took a mouthful of scalding hot coffee. Don winced. The man drank the liquid as if it were a refreshingly cold soda, not skin-searingly hot coffee. "We've been on the level with you as much as we could, guys, but seriously? These fuckers had us by the Jacobs from the get-go. The guv 'ere and Colby clocked onto it six months back with all the bru-ha-ha over that little nark Aranamov and his vodka-swilling mates. Once we'd got the whisper that things up top were far from cushty, Col, Ian and the guv worked out it would take a double-bubble to get the glass cleaned. They knew that the mole on the inside was a big player that had definite links with our people. That narrowed down the to do list a bit. Intel from our boys in Afghanistan told us that the supply line was still operational and that intel was getting through to the Russians and on to the Taliban. Bit of sneaky buggery got us a spotter point to work on. Soon as we did that, the rest fell into place. Spook central gave us the head's up on the intel and our lot got busy with the legends. They put us in place as a CP team recruited by that slimy little shit Winters on Mountbatten's say-so. Rigged the 'retirements' to get us into civvies, let them think we'd broken all connections with the Doughnut on the South Bank and Hereford and seein' as army pensions just about pay the flight over here, that we was on our uppers and gagging for work. Once we were over here, it was a matter of drawing in all the players so we could start unpicking the whole, messy bloody ball of wool."

Micky paused and took another mouthful of coffee, oblivious to the increasingly confused looks on the American agents' faces. "Didn't expect it to start so soon though, not with Gary. We were planning to contact Colby via another more scenic route but seems that someone else had a more urgent agenda and started cherry-pickin' us off one by one. Game changed, we had to go to Plan B to try and keep the damn thing on course and the rest you know."

There was a stunned silence from the Americans. David had joined the group in the briefing room and stood staring in disbelief at Micky. He glanced around the room at his fellow agents. "Seriously. Did _anyone _with an American passport understand one _single _word of that?"

"Nope." Colby closed the door quietly behind him. "But I can give you the _proper _English version if you want." He grinned at his British friends, who all looked mortally offended.

"Oi! Stood right here, Granger! You cheeky little septic!"

David leaned over and quietly whispered in Colby's ear. "What's a septic?"

"Septic tank. Yank. It's rhyming slang. Something they use when they don't want anyone else to understand what the hell they're on about and are actually trying to cover up that they haven't got a clue themselves!"

"There speaks the voice of a nation that invented spray cheese in a can, right?" Danny Smith grinned.

"Just sayin' it like it is, Danny! These guys don't speak Cockney."

"Their loss. Tis the queen's English, old son…"

"_Enough!" _Diane's voice was sharp as she suddenly turned on her oppos. Both men snapped to attention, much to the surprise of the Americans. "You are serving soldiers of her Majesty's bloody Army, _so damn well start behaving like it_!"

"Ma'am!"

Don watched with interest. She had a very similar leadership style to him in many ways. Give her people enough leash to think for themselves, to improvise, to think on their feet. But there was no doubt in those mens' minds who was 'the Guv'. Armstrong was an experienced counterintelligence officer in the British Army and for a split second everyone in the room was harshly reminded of the fact. No wonder she'd been one of the very few women ever to be associated with this elite band of soldiers…

"The entire operation has been planned in conjunction with yours and our intelligence services, Agent Eppes. Colby has been a party to that because of his status as a counterintelligence officer of outstanding credentials. Plus if there's anyone I'd want at my back, it's him." Diane didn't show any hint of personal emotion as she said this. It was matter of fact, almost clinical. But Don, Megan, David and Ian knew there was a much stronger connection between the two of them than her almost dismissive compliment implied.

"Amen to that."

"_Shut the FUCK up, Cox!" _Diane rounded on the Englishman and shot him a vicious look. "For the love of _God_, Micky, _please_. Stop flappin' yer mouth, would ya? There's a good chap."

"Sorry guv." Micky looked at his boss with genuine concern and guilt. She threw him a fleeting smile and patted him on the shoulder. Again, that wordless communication, noticed Meg. Again, the unspoken conversation that passed between the soldiers that out of everyone else in that room only Colby had any understanding of…

"After we had that little problem at Langley, Diane, Ian and I were briefed by some top drawer CI officers. They figured on the crossover connection between the Brits and an espionage ring this side of the water." Colby scratched idly at his ear. It was a habit of his when he was thinking on his feet. Megan had picked up on it a couple of years back – in the same way as Don always glanced repeatedly at his watch when under pressure. She wondered what 'tell' _she _had and if the counterintelligence officer she had worked with unknowingly all this time had picked up on it. Knowing Colby, yeah, probably… "We designed the whole plan from a play we'd used a few years back in Pristina."

"Combined with British Intelligence, we knew that we had a weak link with Mountbatten." Diane picked up effortlessly from Colby's pause. Meg noticed how the two of them worked in perfect sync – picking up on each other's thoughts and mirroring each other's movements. "Mountbatten was recruited into the Regiment with the sole intent of putting him in contact with our unit." She threw the two British soldiers a quick smile. "After all, let's face it lads, there's no bloody way that pratt would've got in on his own merits, was there?"

The two soldiers grinned broadly. "What, old half cock Monty? Not a cat's chance in a crusher, guv!"

"Whoa. That is a particularly _nasty _expression, Micky!" David grinned.

"True though, mate. The bloke was a bleedin' menace. Averagely good at blowing shit up but otherwise?" Micky shook his head. "Only a handful of us were involved in the British end of the operation, mainly because we spell classified with a _capital _C and also because we were the only unit that had been involved with Amber Room from the beginning." Micky pushed himself off the corner of the desk and without even looking threw his empty coffee cup into the trash bin in the corner. He didn't miss. "Plus, and I say this with the greatest respect, folks, we trusted your lot other than Col and Ian as far as we could kick their arses on a windy day. Primary leak was your end, I'm afraid."

Moving over to a laptop, he tapped quickly at the keyboard and on the monitor cascaded a series of photographs – mugshots, clandestine photos and surveillance shots. "We've been keeping an eyeball on Peterson since we got here. Working for his prize possession in the form of Destiny Bowyer made it easy. Actually, thinkin' about it, Monty came up trumps really, didn't he guv?"

"So he had no idea that he was being played?"

"Not an inkling, mate. Dull as dishwater, that numpty."

"So Peterson and Winters…"

Ian picked up the thread. "They were being handled by someone high up in the CIA and British Intelligence. Up until a few days ago we didn't know who. But as soon as their operation started going south, he made his appearance. He wanted to know exactly who was in on the operation and what we knew. Hence his visit to Colby in hospital."

"Miller?" David studied the pictures on the monitor.

"Yep. Kinda like a game of poker, bud. We just had to get the operation to show their ace up the sleeve. That ace was Miller." Colby scratched at his ear again. "Miller's a powerful man in the Company. And you know what they say about power corrupting, right?"

Don frowned. "So now, let me get this straight. You've now got an inside man on _his _team?"

"Tyler. Mark Tyler. Yeah." Colby nodded. "He's a good kid. Knows where his loyalties lie."

"You sure of that, Col?"

"As sure as I can be, Don."

"What if he…"

"…double crosses us?" Diane interrupted and smiled darkly. "Well then, Agent Eppes, Miller vanishes, we're all screwed and all of this will have been for jack shit, mate."

"And the whole crappy game starts all over." Colby rubbed a hand across his face and sighed.

"And meanwhile more of our men die in Afghanistan who don't need to. Because of some son of a bitch's greedy little habit of selling intel to the highest bidder…" Ian's voice was quiet and sobering…

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"My brain hurts." David sighed and perched on the desk, staring at his boss. "Seriously Don, you following any of this?"

Don dropped a pencil down onto his desk and sat back, rubbing his eyes. "Honestly? I don't really know if I want to. But we're the only official agency involved with this crazy-assed plan because at least those guys know they can trust us." He smiled. "Seems inter-departmental co-operation's kinda broken down here a bit, huh?"

"So we're going after our own people?"

"No. We're keeping up the cover of going after whoever killed Peterson and Keel. _And _Gary Parks. Whether or not Colby and his friends actually give us the opportunity to bring anyone to justice is another matter." Don paused and frowned. "I hate this crap, David. I hate all this double and triple crossing. Just…I dunno. Kinda reminds me too much of a _previous_ situation, ya know?"

David nodded. "Colby."

"Yeah."

"Don? Can I ask you a question?"

"Yes David, I _do _trust him."

"No, not that. That's a given. After all this is over, are we gonna lose him?"

"Why should we?"

"We're violent crimes, Don. Colby's a fully paid-up, card-carrying spook. Surely the NSA or whoever the hell he _really _works for are gonna want him back? The guy's got over ten years experience as a counterintelligence officer. I dunno. Maybe they think his talents are kinda wasted here?"

"He's had that choice before. He turned it down. Twice. Remember?"

David nodded. "Yeah, but that was then…"

"I ain't goin' anywhere, buddy." Colby grinned at his friend. "Unless, of course, you know different?"

"Jesus Granger, you have _gotta _stop doin' that!" David spun around and glared at his partner. "I…just wear noisier shoes or somethin' would ya? So I can hear you when you try creepin' up on me like that?"

"Hey, David? Boo…" Ian mysteriously appeared behind Don and grinned at his partner. Colby chuckled quietly to himself, sharing in some kind of special forces private joke that the two agents were privy to at the exclusion of their friends…

"God damn it! You learn all this creepin' about at spy school, guys?"

"Top of our class at sneakin' up behind people, my friend." Colby gave a lopsided smile and patted David on the shoulder. "Don, I think you should see this." He handed his boss a piece of paper. "Could be just what we needed to keep things in play. Winters has made contact with someone this end and no, not Miller, a third party. Name of Stuart Monroe. Guy's a major fixer for high level hits. Favourite dispatch of choice?"

"Let me guess. Explosives?"

"Peterson's place blew to hell and back. Techs said that enough firepower hit the place to take out a city block. This guy specialises in big, very noticeable bangs. Sounds like he has the ego to match."

"So why isn't he on our list of most wanted?"

"Remember Damian Lake?"

Don's eyes widened. "That son of a bitch?"

Colby nodded, that lopsided grin on his face once more. "Turns out Lake had more than just a handful of contacts over here, Don, he had a whole goddamn network. Monroe was one of his bang men. Brit."

"Yeah, well we nailed Lake so there's no reason why we can't do the same here, right? Last known location?"

"Downtown. SWAT are rolling right now."

"I don't want the Brits in on this one, Col."

"They're way ahead of you, Don. They're staying well clear of this, keep up the pretence that this is purely an FBI investigation. We don't wanna jeopardise Tyler."

"David, you and Megan stay here, I want you running the co-ordination between us and SWAT." Don stood up quickly and slid open his desk drawer, pulling his sidearm out and clipping it to his belt. "This is _our _show, buddy." He grinned broadly at Colby. "Ya know. FBI? The agency you can trust?"

Colby grinned back. "They should make that our new Bureau motto." He winked at David. "Sorry you get to miss out on the gunfight, buddy. But hey. You can have Micky entertain you with one of his songs!"

"Son of a…" Before David could finish, his friend had already gone, following Don out of the office at a brisk jog…

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Don peered at the motel room through a pair of field glasses, looking for any signs of life. Room 12 appeared deserted but he knew from years of experience combined with a brutal introduction to the world of counterintelligence from Colby that appearances could be deceptive… He heard the rustle of fabric behind him and a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder. He turned around and looked straight into two intense green eyes. Colby nodded towards the room, keeping low against the wall. Colby's voice was low and level. "Manager says Monroe checked in yesterday evening. Had one hell of a lot of luggage for a guy on his own and was _really _insistent on carrying it himself. Got pretty nasty with the guy when he offered to help him carry his cases into the room."

"We need the bomb squad here, Col?"

"David figures it would be a pretty wise precaution, yeah. So they're around the corner waiting for our signal if things get…_interestin'_." Colby studied the motel room. "Anythin'?"

"Oh, he's in there alright."

"_Don? SWAT are in position. Waiting for your go. Everyone's been moved back, you've got nobody except Monroe on site." _David's voice came through the earpieces loud and clear.

"Okay David, give me eyes and ears on the internal."

"_Copy that."_

Colby listened intently as the chatter of voices over the radio barked out commands. Finally, David's voice cut back in. "_Okay, eyes going in now…"_

A SWAT team member scuttled up behind Colby and handed him a portable monitor. Colby nodded in thanks and handed the monitor to Don. "Eyes in, Don. They're goin' in through the air vent from the room above." Don adjusted the picture and stared as the optic slithered into position and scanned the room. On the grainy image, both men could make out a figure sitting hunched over a table, a plethora of equipment laid out in front of him. "Shit. Looks like he's cookin' up another bomb."

"Yeah. Who for?"

Colby grinned at his boss. "Why don't we knock and go ask him?"

Don grinned back. "Sound's like a plan, buddy." He pressed the speak button on his radio. "Ian, you got eyes on our man?"

"_Got him right in the crosshairs, Don."_

"Alive, please. Don't get too trigger-happy, Ian. I want him alive, okay?"

Up on the roof opposite the motel room, Ian smiled quietly to himself. "You spoil all my fun, Eppes…"

"All units. Move in, move in!"

The SWAT team flanking the two agents moved into position, Don and Colby crouching low behind them as they moved quickly and silently towards the motel room. Taking formation around the door, they glanced at Don, waiting for his sign. Colby moved into position in front of the door, ready to kick the door off its hinges. On the walkway that ran around the back of the motel, a second team waited for the command… Don held up a fist and silently motioned the 'on three' command. Nods all round… He counted up on his fingers; one, two three…

Colby and a SWAT member simultaneously kicked, sending splinters of wood flying through the air as the door lock gave way. The door slammed against the wall with a noise like a pistol shot and the team burst into the room. At the same instant the second team mirrored their action with the alternate exit point. Monroe spun around in his seat, his eyes wide with surprise as his peaceful bomb factory was suddenly filled with yelling, heavily armed FBI agents. His eyes narrowed as he noticed Colby…

"FBI! KEEP YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM, MONROE!" Colby snarled at the man, his sidearm held straight out and pointing directly at Monroe's head. "HANDS! LEMME SEE THOSE HANDS!"

Monroe smiled nastily and slowly brought his hands up. In one was a grenade, _minus _the pin…

"Oh you _didn't _just do that!" Colby glared at the man. "You didn't just hold up a goddamn grenade, you son of a bitch!"

"Might be an idea if everyone stopped yelling and shouting, don't you think?" The clipped English accent was grating – smug. "You shoot me, we all go to hell in a handbasket, Agent Granger. Now BACK OFF!"

"DO _NOT _MOVE, MONROE!" Don's voice was harsh.

"I _SAID, _BACK THE _FUCK _OFF!" Monroe started to stand, holding the grenade in his left hand and reaching behind him for the gun that lay on the table next to a half-finished bomb.

"YOU MOVE ONE FINGER TOWARDS THAT GUN…"

"And you'll WHAT? Shoot me? _That_'d be a smart move!" Monroe's hand kept moving towards the gun and for a split second he glanced to his right to check that he was grabbing the gun and not the red hot soldering iron that sat next to it. It was all Colby needed…

Granger brought his pistol around in an arc, catching the Englishman on the side of the jaw. The man grunted in pain as the hard butt of the gun made contact with his face and his reflexes juddered. The grenade dropped from his left hand into Don's waiting grasp and he clamped the trigger of the pineapple hard back against the outer shell. Colby moved frighteningly quickly, spinning the already off-balance man around and slamming him down onto the floor. Don ran to the open back door and, checking that the parking lot was clear of people, threw the live grenade as hard as he could away from the agents. "GRENADE!" Everyone hit the floor, covering their heads and waiting for the explosion. The noise was deafening and the blast set off every car alarm in a two-block radius, sending out a cacophony of noise and screams.

Don immediately disregarded the confusion and chaos that the grenade had caused and spun back. Colby had the Englishman pinned to the floor, one arm held hard up his back and his foot on Monroe's neck. "That was a _dumb _move, my friend!" Colby snapped the cuffs onto Monroe's wrists and stepped back, grabbing the Englishman by the scruff of the neck and his belt and hauled him up to his feet. He spun the man around to face Don.

"Lot of explosives here, Monroe. Planning on blowin' someone else up today?"

The Englishman smiled nastily. "Just business, Fed. Just business. Nothin' personal."

"Get him outta here, Col."

Colby nodded and pushed the man roughly towards the broken door. Don stared around the room, rifling through papers and photographs. It was clear from the documents on the table that Monroe had been planning to hit someone else and hit them _hard_. There was enough C4 in the room to blast an apartment block into rubble and it seemed that the man didn't care about collateral damage. Don's mind also went back to Monroe's reaction to seeing Colby. He called him by name. How did he know who Colby was? He rifled through the pile of documents on the table and paused, homing in on one particular image. Don's hand hesitated over a picture and his eyes widened. He picked up the picture and studied it, trying to come to terms with what he saw…

_**TBC…..**_


	21. Inside Man

Disclaimer

Today's disclaimer is brought to you in the form of a limerick.

It goes:

There was a young woman from Nantucket…

*Cue urgent screams of "Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!" from lawyers*

*Innocent eyes* _What? _(Much urgent pointing and whispering at censorship rating) Ooooooo_right, _gotchya.

Okay then, back to the bog-standard…waddya mean I can't say 'bog'? Ohfortheloveof… *Deep sigh, much rolling of eyes* Just to keep the lawyers happy, I hearby declare that I have nothing whatsoever to do with the cast, crew or creative process of Numb3rs. However, the story, characters of Diane Armstrong, Micky Cox and Danny Smith are _MINE_, so anyone tries sayin' otherwise and these 'ere lawyers are on freakin' _overtime_, got it?

Right you lot *stabs accusing finger at lawyers*, back to work. And stop answering that bleedin' phone! It costs me a damn fortune every time you buggers go _near _the bloody thing…

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Don walked outside into the bright LA sunshine, aware that the dark cloud hanging over his head was nothing to do with meteorological conditions. "Col? Got a minute?"

Colby glanced over at his boss and immediately frowned, mirroring Don's own concerned look. Something wasn't right… He quickly finished giving instructions to the FBI agent that held Monroe in a forceful grip and made his way over to his boss. "What's up, Don?"

Don beckoned and moved out of earshot of the other FBI agents. His voice was low. "We have a problem."

"What, _another _one?"

"I don't think the FBI was the safe haven of integrity you were hoping it was, Col." Don pulled out a notebook and a handful of photographs and passed them to the younger man. He waited while Colby scanned the documents. Eventually Colby looked up from a black-bound notebook, his face unreadable.

"Jesus…"

"Explains why they've been one step ahead of us all the way through, buddy."

"But…Christ…" Colby shook his head and closed the notebook. "Don, this changes everything. Miller will know by now that we've got Monroe. This was an official operation. There's a damn record going all the way up." He pointed at the notebook. "He'll have the authorisation on his desk. And you can bet your ass he'll be straight on the phone to Miller."

"There's also a good chance that he'll know about Tyler."

"No. We're the only ones that know Tyler's in play. That operation was strictly off grid, Don."

Don nodded. "Okay, so let's keep it that way. You're handling him, right?"

Colby passed the photos and notebook back to Don. "Yeah. Don, listen. We're gonna have to bring the rest of the team in on this. One of them says the wrong thing to the wrong person, even by mistake…"

"…I know. And we've got ourselves a cover-up of Kennedy proportions."

"That's not what I'm worried about."

"Waddya mean?"

Colby looked genuinely concerned. "Look. I know you hate all this counterintelligence shit…" Colby held up a hand as Don opened his mouth to speak. "No, bud, let me finish here. I _know_ how you feel about it, okay? But if this gets up the chain I'm worried that it could pin a goddamn target on _everyone's _back. You don't know these kinda people like I do, Don. They'll stop at nothing to cover their asses. Plus, if this gets out..."

Don rubbed his eyes and frowned deeply. "Yeah. You're right." He glanced at his friend. "Jesus Col, how the hell did he ever manage to keep this covered? I mean, in _his _position?"

Colby smiled sadly. "You had a spook right under your nose for two years before you found out, remember?" He shrugged. "Best way to hide something, Don."

"In plain sight?"

The sad smile faded from Colby's lips. "Yeah. In plain sight…"

3333333333

"You got it?"

"I got it." Mark Tyler walked up to his boss's desk and held out the flash drive.

"Armstrong?"

"Out of the game."

"Smith?"

"Dead."

Miller frowned briefly. "You're _sure_?"

"Yes, sir."

"Granger?"

Mark paused. "He…"

"Still alive, huh? That son of a bitch is damn near indestructible!" Miller slammed the flash drive down on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Well, there's nothing he can do now. He's got nowhere to run. We can take our time dealing with Special Agent Granger. He's not an immediate threat." He glanced up at Tyler, suddenly very conscious that he was vocalising his inner thoughts.

"You still here?"

"What about Monroe?"

"He's been arrested by the FBI." Miller scratched idly at his chin. "_That _could be a problem. Lucky we know someone on the inside, huh?" He smiled nastily at his subordinate. "Good job, Mark. Take the rest of the day off."

"But you'll need a report…"

"Oh, I don't think that any paperwork is required on this operation, do you?" Miller raised an eyebrow at Tyler and smiled benignly.

"Sir." Mark nodded curtly and turned to leave.

"Mark?"

Tyler turned back and looked at the man he now knew was an enemy of the state – a traitor… "Sir?"

"Any other…_issues_?"

"No sir." Mark held his boss's gaze evenly, fighting an almost overwhelming urge to pull out his sidearm and put a bullet straight between the bastard's eyes…

"Good. Thank you. That'll be all."

Mark Tyler walked quickly out of the room, making every effort to keep his body language as neutral as possible…

Miller watched the man leave and waited until the door closed softly behind him. He picked up the phone and dialled quickly. "It's me."

"_God DAMN it Miller! What the hell?"_

"It would be wise if you calmed down."

"_Calm down? They've just brought Monroe in. I've ordered an immediate report from Sinclair but he's stalling. Miller, what the hell's going on? Monroe, he's…"_

"_Your _problem. I have a bigger one."

"_Which is?"_

"Tell me. The Brits. How are they?"

"_They're alive and drinking my goddamn coffee, that's how they are! What're you getting at?"_

"Oh, just that I've been reliably informed that Armstrong was out of the game and that Smith was dead."

"_Really? You wanna tell **them** that? Because they're here, large as life and twice as much a pain in my ass. Your so-called reliable information is a crock, buddy."_

"That's what I thought. Question is, why?" Miller sighed and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. "Look, this is getting out of hand. This was supposed to be a simple clean up operation. You assured me that Granger wasn't a threat. That his investigation into Amber Room was over. That he wasn't a problem any more!"

"_He wasn't until those damn Brits showed up! Anyway, waddya mean? You passin' the buck here, pal?"_

"Our agencies have never exactly seen, shall we say, eye to eye, have they? I thought you had a good grip on things your end. Granger's your man, after all. Surely you can put a leash on the bastard."

"_Bull. He may work here, buddy, but he sure as hell isn't one of **my** people! Remember? Operation Spiderweb? That was your goon factory's idea, not ours!"_

"Spiderweb was a perfectly justified operation. Nine eleven can't be allowed to happen again. Our agents were placed inside law enforcement agencies with the full co-operation of everyone involved…"

"_To **spy **on your own fucking **people**_?"

"No, to ensure that the flow of intelligence between the agencies from the ground up remained unhindered. Not, as you so emotionally put it, to spy on our own fucking people." Miller let out a small laugh. "Just as well, really, huh?"

"_Jesus Christ, Miller! You think this is **funny**?_"

"You knew the risks from day one, my friend. You also know how messy this could get for you if it ever came to light, what with your little_ problem_ and all…"

"_Are you **threatening **me, you son of a bitch_?"

Miller laughed quietly. "Of course not! Just sayin' like I see it, buddy. Besides, Spiderweb isn't the issue here. This is an Amber Room clean up. I want that damn project put to bed. And that includes everyone involved in it." He leaned forward and tapped at a couple of keys on a laptop, distracted by a 'you've got mail' message. Frowning, he read the message on the screen and immediately hit 'delete'… He sat back, refocusing his attention on his telephone conversation. "It may be a good time to, well, take a couple of day's leave. Get some fishing in, ya know."

_"Fishin' season's closed_."

"You're a powerful man. _Open _it." Miller put the phone down and picked up the flash drive, studying it thoughtfully. "So Tyler. What little game are you playing, my friend, huh?" He turned the flash drive over in his fingers, examining it from every angle. "What little game?"

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Mark Tyler flipped open the phone, holding down the panic that threatened to twist his intestines into knots. He hit speed dial one…

"_Granger_."

"Package delivered."

"_Good. Any problems_?"

"Miller's smart. He's suspicious, I'm sure of it."

"_Okay, why ya thinkin' that, Mark?"_

"He asked about the Brits." There was a pause at the other end of the line. "Colby?"

"_Get home, get packed and get the **hell out**, Mark. Do it **now**."_ The line went dead…

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Colby snapped his phone shut and swore quietly. Don, guiding the SUV through the busy LA streets, glanced at his friend. "Problem?"

"Miller's on to Mark already. Fuck. FUCK!" Colby slammed a fist against the dash of the truck, furious and frustrated. "Every time. Every _goddamn time_ we try to move, that bastard's all over us!"

"Okay. So this is your gameplay, buddy. What next?"

"We need to isolate Monroe. We can't run the risk…"

"…That he'll say the wrong thing to the wrong person. Yeah, already done, Col. Question is…"

"…Wadda we do about this? Yeah, trying to figure that one out myself, Don." Colby flicked through the notebook again. "There's a good chance that Winter's has been tipped off that things have gone south. Chances are he's already on his way outta the country. Don, he gets on a plane we'll have no chance of grabbing him again. Means we've lost any chance to get any intel outta him about his contacts this end. We've got Monroe for Peterson and Michelle's murders and we know Mountbatten organised the hit on Gary. Who pulled the trigger?" He shrugged. "I'm guessing we'll never know that. This thing's got so many fuckin' layers I'm freakin' drowning over here."

Don glanced at his partner, a frown of concern on his face. Colby was starting to worry him. The frustration was tipping the big man over into that dark place again – he was tailspinning… "What about the Brits? I mean, surely we've both got enough evidence now to mark him? Us and them?"

Colby stared out of the window, lost in thought. "Yeah." His response was a mere mumble of agreement. "Possibly. They got their own way of doin' things, bud. And honestly? I figure Winters is their damn problem now. I spoke to Dee, gave her the heads up on everything. She's getting in touch with London for further orders."

"Col, her team…"

Colby looked at his boss. "I know. They're a kill team, Don. But Winters is more use to them alive. Don't worry. They're not gonna be committing any more felonies on US soil, with or _without_ our government's approval." He gave his boss a half-hearted smile.

"I thought you'd quit from all this shit, Colby."

"Spooks don't quit, Don. We don't retire, we don't leave."

"So how the hell do you get away from all this crap?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. He watched the LA landscape blur past the window of the SUV, his hands tightening into fists. Don could see the man's nails digging into the skin of his palms, the flesh reddening as the pressure increased…"We _die_, Don." Colby looked back at his boss, his green eyes clouded. "That's the only way out…"

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"Eyes on Winters says he's rabbiting, guv." Micky Cox walked quickly into the briefing room and slapped down a file on the table. "Our guys have him at LAX buying a ticket back to the Smoke and looking bloody nervous."

"I'm not surprised." Diane picked up the file and scanned through it quickly. "Are Six waiting at the other end?"

"In place and ready to escort him into one of those little private rooms. Ya know. The ones where they wear latex gloves and a nasty smile?" Micky grinned broadly at his boss. "I don't think his answer to 'did you pack your bags yourself, sir' is gonna be too well received. Especially when they find a kilo of Colombian marching powder in amongst his Y-fronts."

Diane smiled quietly to herself, noticing the look of horror on David and Megan's faces. She looked at them, the smile vanishing and a hard, cold look coming into her eyes. "Whatever it takes, agents. _Whatever _it takes."

"What about this damn flash drive that he's supposed to have?" David perched on the corner of a desk, wincing and rubbing gently at his injured shoulder.

"No sign of it. Techs went through his stuff with a fine toothed comb when we tossed his hotel room." Danny shut the door behind him and leaned casually against the wall. "The bastard's still probably got it on him."

"Or he's done a dead drop on it. Question is, where? And when?" Megan studied the collage of photos and documents on the monitor.

"Not your problem any longer, Agent Reeves. We'll take care of things our end." Diane snapped the file shut and discarded it on the cluttered table.

"So what are we waiting on now?" Megan turned and faced the Englishwoman. The mask of 'out of control worry' that she had worn throughout the operation had vanished. Now that they all knew the operation had been a set up from the start, there was no point in pretending otherwise. Megan and David had a hard time coming to terms with the way the British did 'business' – the FBI agents were way out of their comfort zone here. This was Colby's world. Diane's world. A world of double and triple crosses, of using 'any means necessary', of words that had alternate meanings or no meaning at all. It was all a lie – an illusion. And it _stank_…

"We're waiting on Colby and Don to get back here." Diane looked at Megan and for a second, behind the cold, professional soldier Megan thought she could see a glimpse of some genuine concern. Pity, even…"I'm sorry folks. I really am."

"For what?" David frowned. He felt as uncomfortable as he knew Megan did with all this. It seemed wrong to him. The same feelings of betrayal he had wrestled with when he thought Colby had been a traitor had surfaced again. The knot in his stomach warned him that something in their own back yard was wrong here, and not just this shadowy Miller character…

"Colby and Don'll brief you when they get back. Until then? None of you are to leave this room."

"_What?"_

"You're on lockdown, Agent Sinclair."

"Oh, now _wait just a damn minute_ here…"

"Not my orders, David. These come from Don." Diane's gaze was level but uncompromising. David glanced towards the door. Danny Smith still stood casually against the frame but the body language told David that any attempt to exit the room would be met with gentle but firm denial from the powerfully built man. Danny shrugged and shook his head. "Obviously there's been developments. He was most insistent."

"Shouldn't be too long, anyway, Sinclair." Micky grinned and pointed. "The boss approacheth…"

Danny glanced over his shoulder and mirrored Micky's grin. "And by the looks of it, he don't look too damn happy, mate!" He moved aside from the door and opened it, letting Don and Colby enter the room.

"Don?" Megan sounded concerned. The look on Don's face was one she'd seen before – the same look he'd had when he'd found out about Colby's assumed betrayal…

Colby shut the door behind them and patted Danny affectionately on the shoulder. "Been keeping them on lockdown, buddy?"

"Thought they were gonna rush the barricades for a moment there, Col!" Danny grinned, but David could see behind the banter. Something was seriously wrong. Colby moved quietly to the back of the room and sat down next to Ian. Ian glanced at the man – Colby merely shook his head. Again, those wordless conversations. Megan felt disjointed. Her years of training hadn't prepared her for this. There were no psychology textbooks that dealt with the unspoken conversations between counterintelligence officers. But instinct told her that a storm was coming that would shake the very foundations of the unit…

"Okay. Listen up. What we discuss in here does not, _under any circumstances_, leave this room. Are we clear?" Don's voice was sharp and authoritative. He ran a hand through his short, dark hair and paced anxiously. Turning suddenly, he looked at his audience. British and American, fighting side by side in a war with their own people. He felt sick. Sick to the pit of his stomach. He stopped pacing and leaned back against the table, his head on his chest. "Jesus guys, I don't even know where to begin." Don looked up at his team. The best damn team in the FBI. He could see the concern written across David and Megan's faces. Colby and Ian? Well, they had their own agenda but Don knew damn well that the two ex soldiers were utterly loyal to his team and completely committed to seeing this through to the end…

Don took a deep breath. Best just to lay it out there…

"Winters is boarding a plane to London as we speak. I trust your people have everything in hand?" He looked towards Diane who merely confirmed the question with a curt nod. "Good. That just leaves our end. Monroe in isolation?"

"Yes. Don, I had a request from the deputy director's office for the file on Monroe…"

"Have you sent it up?"

"No, not yet, but…"

"Good." Don stopped David in his tracks. "The last thing we want is to give White any intel on this operation."

David frowned. "Why not? He's the deputy director, for God's sake!"

"And did you stop to wonder why he was so damn interested in this case, David?"

David frowned deeply. "What are you saying here, Don?"

"White's dirty." Colby's voice came from behind David. It was quiet – barely audible. David spun around and faced his friend furiously. Colby sat impassively, his emotions completely unreadable. "Sorry bud. It's the truth."

"The _deputy director_? Oh, c'_mon_!" David turned and faced Don. "Jesus, you're serious, aren't you?"

Don merely nodded. "We found evidence at Monroe's that puts Deputy Director White up to his neck in all this. They've been playing us, guys. Playing us all like fucking puppets. Six months ago, White was given a full report from Colby's people on Operation Amber Room. He knew of Colby's involvement in the operation and that the investigation was still going on."

"White's appointment was considered to be a political one." Colby picked up the thread. "He was an average agent at best, but damn good at manoeuvring himself into the right positions at the right time. Like you said to me once, David, the FBI's a top down organisation. The people at the top?" He shrugged. "Sometimes they have their own agendas, buddy. White had a bit of a secret life. His position gave him the ability to cover it up. But it put him right into the hands of Miller."

"What secret life?"

"Seems our deputy director likes to play cards." Don carried on. "Really expensive cards. The guy's got a gambling habit that would make the Vegas casinos break out the champagne."

"We found a notebook at Monroe's. Probably given to him by Miller. White was being blackmailed by Miller to pass intel on operations directly to him. As soon as he saw our first report with the words 'Amber Room' written on them, Miller went into overdrive. Started coming down hard on White. That's why the son of a bitch has been one step ahead of us all the way. Our own goddamn boss has been offering us up on a silver fucking plate." Colby's voice was hard. "The notebook had transcripts of documents from the genuine Amber Room flash drive. Remember a while back we busted a gang for gun running? And how that whole case ended up falling apart because of so-called procedural anomalies?" David nodded. The case had frustrated all of them.

"And then there was Damien Lake."

"But that was jury tampering, Don. We proved that." Megan sounded confused.

"We never really looked too closely at how that whole thing started, did we?" Don smiled briefly at Meg. "I know you weren't around for that case, Meg, but believe me, we damn near busted out on it. There were plenty of unanswered questions after we put Lake away."

"Questions that got swept under a very nice carpet up on the top floor, Meg. Along with some questions that never got answered about_ my_ situation? Or _yours_ with the DOJ?" Colby's matter of fact tone chilled Meg. "This has been going on for years. Miller's had White's balls in a vice since day one. Christ knows how many operations and cases have been compromised. Internal Affairs are gonna have a fucking field day when they find out."

"Christ…"

Megan stared at Don. He looked devastated. The organisation he had dedicated his life to had a rotten core – a rot that would jeopardise the entire organisation's reputation. "Don, if this gets out…"

"Then the FBI as an organisation is gonna take a massive hit, Meg. All of us. Every single one of us will be seen as compromised."

"So what the hell do we do?"

Don looked at his team. This was probably the last time they would all be in the same room together. Once the internal investigation started, he knew his team would be torn apart. Colby and Ian would probably melt back into the shadows with the CIA. He knew he would be hauled over the coals for this. His career was finished. Meg and David? Maybe they would survive. Maybe not… He sighed deeply.

"We arrest deputy director White for treason…"

**_TBC…_ **


	22. Rotten to the Core Part One

Disclaimer.

Yup. It's that time again. Disclaimers. Ya know. The 'blah, blah, blah' bit you skip over to get to the good bits where I start blowing shit up. Well, as a special thank you to everyone who has been so kind with messages of support during my recent, 'exploding eyeballs' problem which involved complicated stuff with corneas, ulcers, serious, sight-threatening infections and the usual bullshit you have to put up with in this crazy, mixed up old world of ours, here's a special treat for you all….

_**GRENADE!**_

Pause…..

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnd…..

**BANG! MUCH EXCITEMENT!**

Whilst the dust settles on that little curve-ball, can I just point out that I have nothing whatsoever to do with Numb3rs, the crew, the writers or the superb cast of that marvellous and much underrated show. What I _do _have is an unhealthy interest in blowing shit up, ordnance and the dark and murky world of espionage as well as complete and utter artistic control over the characters of Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Micky 'you did NOT just say that!' Cox and Danny 'Gor blimey guv, strike a light!' Smith. And I got _plenty _ordnance left over to lob at anyone who says otherwise…

Right then. On with the show…

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Deputy Director White hurriedly stuffed a fistful of papers into an attaché case. The disc he'd slammed into the writer of his computer let out a high-pitched and barely audible squeal as file after file downloaded. "C'mon, _c'mon_, for Chrissake!" White stood, a finger hovering over the 'delete' button. As soon as he could get that disc out every file that incriminated his involvement with a catalogue of corruption over the past two years would be wiped. Even the FBI's techs wouldn't be able to retrieve it. Miller had given him a flash drive with a computer virus on it that would effectively erase every incriminating file listed on its datastream. It would burrow itself deep into the FBI's system and leave everything else intact. A 'sniper virus', Miller had called it. Something that the bastards had probably cooked up in one of their nasty little workshops at The Farm, White had thought to himself. But hey. At least Miller had given him the chance to clear out before the axe fell…

"Going somewhere, Deputy Director?" Don Eppes leaned against the doorframe. Next to him stood Sinclair. The agent held up a buff file and looked levelly at the Director.

"Got that report you asked for, _sir_." Sinclair's voice was flat but there was a barely controlled anger behind it…

Don pushed himself off the doorframe and walked into the office. Sinclair turned and spoke quietly to Louise, the deputy's assistant. "Deputy Director White won't be taking any more calls today, okay?" He gave her a look that told the woman that hanging the 'do not disturb' sign on the phone line wasn't open to debate. She nodded curtly and pressed a button on her phone.

"No calls, Agent. Understood. " A quiet, no nonsense tone to her voice was strangely reassuring.

"Thank you." David gave her a fleeting smile. Smart girl. She'd cottoned onto the seriousness of the situation straight away… David shut the door quietly. As soon as the door closed, the woman picked up the phone and dialled a number. "Agent Spedding please." She waited to be connected. "Agent Spedding? It's Louise." She took a sharp breath in but her voice was still level and calm. "We may have a problem…."

Inside the room, White studied Agent Eppes. "Can this wait, Don? I'm late for a meeting."

"Oh, I dunno. Can this wait, David?" He glanced over at his partner.

David shook his head. "No, Don. I don't think it can really." He shrugged. "Think you might just shuffle it up your list of priorities once you hear what it is, Deputy Director."

"Well," White glanced at his watch. "I really am late so whatever it is _will _have to wait, agents, no matter how important you _think_ it is. So if you'll excuse me…" He moved towards the door purposefully. David reached behind him and locked the door, placing a powerful arm across the entrance. The no nonsense look was there again. White had the distinct feeling that the agent wouldn't move aside on the strength of his rank this time…

"Why?" Don's voice was quiet.

White turned, a quizzical look in his eyes. "Why what?"

"Just…_why_?" Don didn't raise his voice. He sounded genuinely upset. David knew that he was. Don had devoted his life to the FBI. He'd risked his life more times than he could count. He'd lost relationships, contact with his family for years, a lifetime of apartments never lived in and dreams never realised in the name of justice, protection and an unwavering devotion to duty. He felt utterly betrayed. And angry beyond words. The organisation he'd dedicated his life to was rotten. Rotten to its putrid core. In front of him was the source of that rot. Like a diseased maggot in the centre of an apple. He'd tainted them all…

Don moved towards his boss. "Why? Huh? For the sake of a few games of cards? Is _that _why you betrayed every goddamn agent in the Bureau? Why you've compromised hundreds of cases? Why we're gonna be torn apart by our own investigation and crucified by the media? Why the name of the FBI is gonna be a fucking _laughing stock _for every goddamn gang banger from East LA to Sacramento?" Don was now nose to nose with the director. He snarled at the man, his voice just above a whisper. "I've got the evidence, White. Every sordid little piece of it! And I'm gonna make _damn sure _that you go down for _life_, you son of a bitch!" He spun White around and slammed him against the desk, snapping the cuffs on his own boss's wrists…

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"Last call. British Airways flight 204 to London Heathrow now boarding at gate 8." The tannoy announcement was the message from on high Winters had been waiting for.

"Thank _fuck _for that!" He scooped up his luggage and walked briskly to the gate. Once he was airborne, he could relax. It had been a bloody close call. If he had known Miller was in a full-on meltdown, he'd have never left his cosy, mews house in the heart of London's Kensington. Probably best to avoid the States for a while. Who'd have thought that the bloody FBI was crawling all over the damn place? And even more disturbing, that they were in cahoots with the bloody SAS? He handed his boarding pass to the check-in girl with a charming smile. Just another businessman flying home. Get the fuck off of American soil and melt back into the shadows. He could sort out the problem with the British later on. Preferably from a nice, south pacific island somewhere…

Danny Smith leaned against a pillar watching the Englishman check in at the British Airways desk. His brilliant blue eyes stared levelly at the check-in girl. She looked past Winters straight at Danny. Smith gave the girl the briefest of nods. The check-in girl was an MI6 field agent. There were two more undercover as flight attendants on the plane. Winters was already in custody and he didn't even know it… The girl shifted her attention back to Winters, giving him a dazzling smile as she handed his pass back to him. "Have a pleasant trip, Mr Winters."

"Thank you, um…" He glanced down at the nametag on her chest, lingering just long enough to admire the woman's curvaceous figure. "Debby." He smiled.

Debby smiled back, masking the overwhelming urge to slap the lecherous, traitorous bastard across the face. "You're welcome!" It was almost too bright, too cheery. She checked herself just in time…

Winters had one last letch at the woman's chest and grinned, instantly disregarding the airhead and striding towards his freedom….

Danny grinned to himself and put his cuff up to his mouth. "Winters is on board."

"_Copy that. Thank you, Sierra, Alpha, Sierra 23, we'll take it from here."_

Danny chuckled quietly. "He's all yours, Six. Good luck..."

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The black SUV rolled to a stop, lights off, engine already killed and the car coasting on pure inertia. Inside the truck, Colby looked into the darkness, scanning for movement. The meet point was miles out of town. A single streetlamp lit the area, the last in a chain of lamps that marked the outer boundary of LA civilisation. He had been careful in the choice of location…

A rustle in the undergrowth caught Colby's eye and he smiled slowly.

"Fuck me. He's only gone and bleedin' fallen for it. Well. Colour me surprised. Didn't think he was that bloody stupid." The soft London accent was tinged with amusement. "Good boy, Coxy! Remind me to mention Corporal Michael Ian Cox in dispatches, would you, CJ?"

Colby chuckled to himself. "Amazing." He turned to Diane with a wry smile on his face. "How did he do it again?"

"Voice recognition software. Spliced together a couple of recordings of White, scripted up a frantic call to Miller, press play, much excitement." Diane chuckled. "And ta-da! Heeere's Johnny!"

Special Agent Miller stepped out into a clearing in front of the SUV. The blacked out windows hid the occupants' faces from view, but he knew whom he was here to meet. "Deputy Director!" Miller called out to the car. "It's cold and I'm getting pissed off. You here to talk or am I wasting my time here?"

Colby opened the door. Miller still couldn't see the face of the figure that emerged from within the SUV, but the normally buffed to a brilliant shine shoes were missing. Instead a stout pair of combat boots could be seen. Whoever this was it wasn't Deputy Director White. Miller's hand started to reach back towards his sidearm…

"Oh, I wouldn't do that, if I were you." Colby closed the door and emerged from the shadows, walking casually towards Miller. Dressed in black combat trousers, a black tee shirt and body armour, Colby looked every inch the Special Forces soldier that he was. There was no smile. There was none of the usual easy-going, good-natured humour in his intense green eyes. His face was granite hard and clearly showed his 'all business' state of mind. Miller knew that one wrong move now and he'd be dead before he hit the floor…

"Granger."

Finally, a slow, lazy and deeply disturbing smile spread across Colby's lips. Seeing Miller squirm like this was a real treat…"Expecting _someone else_, Miller?"

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Megan Reeves stared into the bitter coffee as it swirled around her cup. Everything seemed bitter right now. She ran a hand over her eyes. It had been a long few days, and it was far from over yet. She knew right now that Don was doing something that could tear the FBI apart. All the doubts she had been having for so long bubbled back up to the surface. Maybe now _was _the time to leave. To go back East. To finish that damn doctorate and do what she really _wanted _to do – counselling. Everything she'd discovered during her time undercover at the DOJ – everything Colby had uncovered during the Janus List and now this? Her own belief in the institution she had dedicated her life to was shaken to its foundations. How could she go back out there tomorrow morning, wearing an FBI shield with pride?

She took her shield off her belt and studied it. It had meant so much to her when she had graduated from Quantico. Now? She tossed it onto the table, never wanting to touch it again.

A slim but strong hand picked it back up and handed it to her. She looked up and the owner of the hand smiled gently at her. Micky Cox's soft, hazel eyes met hers and he frowned slightly. "It's only one apple that's rotten, blondie. Not the entire barrel." He held out the shield to her. When she refused to take it, he gently picked up her hand in his and closed her fingers around the hard, metal edges. He wrapped his own hand around hers, not letting her refuse the shield and forcing her to focus on it. Micky sat down opposite her, studying her intensely. "You're the profiler in this motley gang of renegades, right?" He smiled at her, his strong hands still covering hers as she clung to the shield, now never wanting to let it go...

"Yes. Why?"

"So what's your psychological, spidy-senses tellin' ya, Meg?"

"That things are never going to be the same again." Megan met Micky's gaze. "That we're probably finished as a department."

"That it's time to move on? To quit?"

"I…I don't know." Megan was exhausted. She didn't want to have this conversation right now. And Micky Cox was the last man she thought would be forcing her to confront this…

Micky nodded. "Ya know, when I joined the regiment, I had absolutely no bloody idea what I was letting myself in for. It was damn hard, I can tell ya. But it was worth every shit-covered, freezing your arse off in the middle of the Brecon Beacons, getting shot at by some bastard in the dark, fucking awful minute of it. Wanna know why?" He looked at Meg.

"Not really…"

"Because it meant that I was part of something that I _believed in¸ _Meg. Something that I believed could make a difference in all the shit-holes of the world. That was something I could be proud of. Something I'm _still _proud of, Meggy. I serve my Queen and Country. Now I know you lot ain't got a queen, but you've still got a _country_, right? Full of people who depend on people like you to make sure that they can get up in the morning and not see their children blown to shit by some martyr-seeking nutter with a bomb of _any _denomination? That keeps its own house in order, no matter how difficult that is?"

"This is different, Micky."

"How? _How_ is it different?"

"Because your faith in what you do is still intact! Because your regiment isn't about to get ripped to pieces because one of its top people was a traitor!"

Micky didn't say anything for a few moments. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "Meg, sometimes?" He shook his head. "Sometimes, darlin', the biggest explosions are the ones where nobody throws a fuckin' grenade through a window at ya or blasts the crap out of some poxy, clapboard house with a shit-load of C4 hoping to blow your arse to buggery and back. Sometimes, Meg, the biggest explosions are the ones that do the most damage. The silent ones. Like the one that's going on right now," he gestured towards the ceiling, "in that office upstairs. Ones that blow yer mind apart rather than yer legs. Ones that blow the shit out of yer ability to trust any bastard ever again. That blow holes in the foundations of the things that most matter to you." His hand tightened around hers. "_Those _bastards? Babes, you really don't want to be around when one of those buggers goes off." The usual, ready smile and mischievous twinkle in his friendly, hazel eyes evaporated into nothing. "You just make damn sure that if you are around when the balloon goes up, that you're strong enough to resist the blast. And ya know something, Agent Reeves?" He placed a finger under her chin and tipped her head up, locking his gaze into her eyes. "I think you are. I think you're strong enough. Actually, I think you're _more _than strong enough. _Whatever_ you decide to do." He smiled one last time and stood up, letting go of her hand. "But I know one thing for certain. Colby'd be bloody sad to see you leave. He's always been very fond of you, ya know?"

Megan smiled. "I'm fond of him too." She looked up. "He's a _good_ man."

"That's the best compliment you can pay anyone, Megan." His smile faded. "And right now that good man needs your help. So does the rest of your team. And they're all a _damn _good team, Meg, including _you._" Suddenly the grin returned. "And _I _need someone to show me how to use that candy vending machine of yours. Fucker swallowed a dollar bill when I tried to get a Mars bar earlier. Wanna show me how it works before I take an M4 to it?"

Megan laughed for the first time in days. She took one last look at the shield and clipped it back onto her belt. She stood up, abandoning the by-now cold coffee and looped her arm into Micky's, feeling his powerful muscles against hers. She smiled at him. "Thanks for the pep talk, Micky."

"My pleasure, blondie."

"Micky?"

"Yup?"

Don't call me that…"

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The door of the office opened and David walked out into the reception area, followed by a pale and sweating Deputy Director. His hands were cuffed behind him and Don Eppes had a firm grasp on the man's elbow.

"We'll take it from here, Agent Eppes." The man stepped forward, blocking their path.

"Um, _no_, I don't think so…"

The man held up a badge. "Special Agent Spedding. Internal Affairs. I'm sorry, Don. This is our case now." He ignored David and put a hand around White's arm, pulling him free of Don's grasp. Two other agents blocked the door and Spedding handed White over to them with a curt nod. He glanced over at Louise briefly and flashed a smile. "Thanks for the head's up, Louise. We'll have you back in counterintelligence on Monday."

Louise sighed. "Guess I better clear my desk then, huh?"

"Do it later, Agent, would you? I need to talk to Don and David right now."

Louise nodded and scooped up her bag and jacket. Spedding turned his attention to Don. David was waiting for the explosion he knew was coming…

"What in the _hell…_"

"I think we need to talk, Agent Eppes." Spedding turned to David. "Agent Sinclair?" He motioned back towards the deputy director's office. "Seeing as White won't be using it for the rest of the, well, _ever, _really, I don't see why we shouldn't borrow his office for an hour or so, don't you? Bit of privacy?" He motioned again towards the door…

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"You _son of a bitch_, Granger!" Miller snarled at the man. "You goddamn, _son of a BITCH!"_

"Whoa, hey now, buddy. Go easy on the language in front of a lady!" Colby smiled lazily again and nodded towards his right. Miller turned sharply to see a shadowy, black figure dressed the same as Colby. Only she had a gun pointing straight at Miller.

"G'on. Say something derogatory about the Queen. Give me _a fucking good reason to shoot you_." She had that same, lazy smile as Colby.

"It's over, Miller."

"Really. Ya think?"

"Oh, I _know so_. We've got White. He's just been arrested. And ya know?" Colby scratched idly at his ear. "I'm guessing that he's gonna be singing like a big-house snitch right about now. And I'm also guessing that your name is gonna be right at the top of the agency's to do list as of oh, about…" he glanced at his watch, "half an hour ago." He looked levelly at Miller. "Like I said, my friend. It's over. _We _are Operation Amber Room clean up. That's what you referred to it as, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Granger."

"Let me see if I can remember it verbatim." He glanced over at Diane. "How did it go, babes?"

"I think the exact words were I want that damn project put to bed. And that includes everyone involved in it." Diane shrugged. "And then there was something about it being a really good time to go fishing. Oh, and if I remember right he suggested putting you on a leash, babes."

Colby chuckled. "Yeah. Leash. I'd forgotten 'bout that bit." The chuckle evaporated. "We've had a CI agent on the inside for months, Miller. Agent Louise Tyler. _Mark _Tyler's sister. Kinda a family tradition. And the real beauty of it?" Colby suddenly laughed again. "The real _killer, _my friend is that _you _put her there! And there was you thinking that you'd put one of your own people in to keep an eye on the director. I would've thought an experienced spook like you would have suspected a triple cross but nope. Clueless, weren't you?"

"You'd know all about fucking triples, wouldn't you, Granger?"

Granger merely smiled impassively and nodded. "Yep. Then all we needed was the daisy chain linking back to you and the _real _Amber Room clean up could happen. Only _you _weren't the one organising it, buddy. We were. Man." Colby shook his head. "Sucks to be you, dude. Really sucks."

"And what makes you think either of you are going to get out of this meeting alive?"

"Um, oh, nonono, don't tell me, I know this one…" Colby grinned cheerfully at Miller. "I'll take a dead shot, pissed off SAS captainfor five hundred, buddy!" He nodded towards Diane. "Seriously. _She's _the one you wanna keep on a leash!"

"Hey! Standing right here, Granger!" Diane chuckled and shrugged. "Although, he's not wrong, ya know…"

"You honestly think I came alone?"

"Nope. I'm presuming you've got back up."

"_Had_." A rustle in the bushes grabbed Millers attention as Mark Tyler emerged. He nodded towards Colby. "Cable-ties, duct tape and a quick smack on the back of the head. They're quiet as church mice." Mark stood opposite Diane, a second sidearm pointing straight at Miller. "You treacherous bastard, Miller. You _honestly _thought you'd get away with this?"

Miller looked at the three agents. Three of the finest military units represented in one gathering. And not _one _of them knew what they were up against. Not _one _of them knew they weren't on a battlefield. They were fighting a darker, more dangerous war. A war of shadows and deceptions.

But then the realisation kicked in…

These three agents were _experts _in that kind of warfare. They _were _shadows. They _were _the deception. And right now? They were on the winning side…

Miller's eyes narrowed. He was going down, he knew that. But he was damn well going to take at least one of these bastards with him. His gaze focused on the one man he blamed for this entire debacle.

His eyes focused on Colby Granger…

**_TO BE CONTINUED…_**


	23. Rotten to the Core Part Two

Disclaimer & Author's note

Firstly, a note from your author. **SORRY**! It's been _bloody weeks_ since this ripping yarn was updated and I owe you all a big apology for the delay. Unfortunately, my paying work has to take priority and suddenly, yours truly is in demand 24/7 for paying gigs. However, I do have a little bit of downtime coming to me, hence the latest chapter (see below, as if you hadn't guessed already). Thanks to everyone for sticking with me and apologies again, particularly to those who have contacted me with notes of support/threats of physical violence/bribes.

Now.

Onto the disclaimer:

Yada, yada, yada.

You want more? Jesus, what is _with _these damn lawyers? I don't own anything whatsoever to do with Numb3rs. I don't write for the show, I don't work Saturdays in Dylan's Pizza restaurants, I don't drive the truck wiv all der pyrotechnics in it (more's the pity. Gotta love a bit of blowing shit up…) and I don't have anything to do with the creative process of this superb show in any way, shape or form. I _do_, however, own the characters of 'Psycho' Alex Carter/Diane Armstrong, Micky 'Lawks!' Cox and Danny 'Anyone got any Chas and Dave records?' Smith. And it'll be a good, old fashioned East-End smackdown with anyone who says otherwise…

The usual physical violence, atrocious bad language and unintelligible Cockney rhyming slang warning applies.

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Colby stood motionless. Every muscle was coiled to react – every sense screamed at him to do the logical thing and take cover. He knew damn well that Miller was in a no win situation and that the crazy, treacherous son of a bitch was just about stupid enough to go down shooting. The narrowed eyes, the tension in the neck and shoulders – all 'tells' he'd learned to recognise through years of intensive interrogation techniques. That was Colby's greatest asset. His ability to 'read' people was almost uncanny. He knew exactly what was going through Millers head in those last, expansive seconds.

He chuckled to himself. Larry Fleinhart would love that analogy. The flexibility of time was something that he was always banging on about, happy in the assumption that Colby was paying merely amused, if always utterly polite, attention to his ramblings. But Colby understood exactly what Fleinhart was talking about. Those everlasting seconds when your whole life flashes in front of you. The same feeling he had during his very first combat experience. The fear, the panic, the knowledge that the training you thought would prepare you for anything had in no way prepared you for _this_. He trusted Diane to react in plenty of time. And Mark. But anything, _anything _could happen…

Miller stared at Granger, hatred in his eyes. Hoisted by his own pattard, was the expression. He'd become a victim of his own damn clean up operation. They'd been two steps ahead of him right from the start. All of the deception, all of the double crosses, lies and bloodied bodies were a direct consequence of an operation all those years ago in Kosovo. If different soldiers had been involved, he would have had a better outcome. But different soldiers hadn't been involved. Shoulda, woulda, coulda. Colby Granger and Diane Armstrong had been the senior officers on the mission. And betrayal by their own people, months of horrific torture, mental and physical pain and an iron-will determination to see an end to everyone involved in Amber Room had driven the pair in a relentless hunt for the primary target. Him. He was the goddamn primary target. He felt as if he was surrounded by angry Dobermans ready to attack at any second. But worse than that was the fear that these two bastards would 'do the right thing'. They'd publicly expose him. They'd use him in evidence…against…_White…_

Miller started to smile. Maybe there _was_ a way out of here after all…

"Somethin' funny, Miller?" Colby's voice was soft but full of menace. Those damn green eyes bored into Miller, curious to discover the cause of this unexpected expression of satisfaction. Miller felt as if the look was stripping away layer after layer of deception and lies, burrowing into his brain, searching for the truth. "Somethin' amusing you?"

Miller chuckled. "You need me, Granger." His posture relaxed as he let the ex-soldier digest this statement. "You need me to make sure you and your precious Bureau buddies don't go down in a burning ball of inglorious, stinking _scandal_, my friend!"

Diane threw Colby a questioning glance. They hadn't underestimated Miller. They weren't that stupid. But perhaps they had missed something?

Colby glanced back at the Englishwoman. The look said it all. 'He's got a point...' Colby crossed his powerful arms over his chest and looked curiously at Miller. An A1 9mm automatic dangled idly from the fingers in his right hand. "I'm listening."

"Call your attack dogs off, Granger…"

"Not gonna happen."

"Then you get nothing from me. You may as well shoot me." Miller smirked at Granger.

Colby glanced down at the ground thoughtfully for a second. Then, without warning, his head snapped back up and he smiled brightly, the A1 pointing straight at Miller's left kneecap. "Okie dokie then." A sharp crack of gunfire rang out and Miller collapsed onto the ground, clutching a blood soaked left knee.

"You SON OF A _BITCH! _Jesus Christ you…you fucking _shot me!"_

"Well? You _did _say that I might as well, my friend, your exact words! You didn't specify to what degree though, buddy, so I thought I'd start with a kneecap and work my way up." Colby smiled coldly and walked forward towards the prone man. Diane frowned to herself in the dark shadows. If Eppes had seen that, he'd have a damn fit! She had found it amusing that Don had absolutely no idea of just what Colby Granger was capable of. He played the 'just a simple G-Man' act to perfection. That was a Colby Granger that Colby _wanted _Don to see. But this Colby Granger? Ah, now _this _Colby Granger was a whole different person. _Whatever_ it takes. That was the world they lived in. But even in this world of shadows and the blurring of the distinction between black and white, there was a line. Diane knew she had crossed it many a time. But Colby never had done. he'd never gone past that point where you become as bad as the ememy you hunt. He'd never resorted to that. Up until now…

Now, she saw a darker side to the man she loved. A side she had known all along was in there. But he had never gone that little bit too far. He had never relied on torture for interrogating prisoners, even in the worst situations in Afghanistan. Colby was a master of coercion. Not a torturer…

The two pistols of Diane and Mark followed every move, ready to finish the job if Miller made a reach for his gun…

Colby bent down and reached into the man's jacket, casually discarding the 9mm automatic he pulled from Miller's belt. His own A1 rested on one knee, the barrel still curling out a wisp of blue smoke. He studied Miller for a second and smiled. "So. What were you saying about me needing you?"

Miller was gasping for air. The pain of his shattered knee made thinking difficult. But then, that had been Granger's intention all along, hadn't it? It was an old interrogation trick. Give the subject an external problem to think about and throw them off balance. It was practically impossible to lie convincingly whilst trying to deal with the pain of a shattered kneecap, and Granger knew that full well. He was good. He was _very _good. Langley had been meticulous in their training programme...

"You know full well, Granger!"

"Do I?"

"If White is publicly exposed for treason, your precious bureau is _finished. _They'll have zero credibility. Dozens of cases have been compromised, Granger, dozens! Every damn one will have to be reinvestigated!"

"Yeah. Not tellin' me anything I don't already know here, buddy…"

"You think Washington's gonna let that _happen_? Don't be stupid, Colby!"

"So surprise, surprise. You saying we're looking at a potential cover-up here, Miller? Well, colour me shocked, my friend. Who'd've thunk it?" The sarcasm dripped from his words. "And _again _with the not tellin' me anythin' I don't know already." The sarcastic smile vanished in an instant and Colby's voice was icy cold. "Wanna try and at least go one for three?"

Miller knew that if he didn't give the man something, his right kneecap stood a damn good chance of going the same way as his left one. But then...two kneecaps shot out would be damn difficult to explain away as a justifiable injury whilst taking down a suspect. It would raise suspicions. Colby knew that. Miller realised that the second shot would be a kill-shot…

"Evidence. White has evidence that puts the blame for this whole thing onto _you_, Granger. You and Diane. _That _much of this nasty little slice of Hell is _true, _my friend. I know. I _wrote_ it." He smiled slowly. "Everything, Colby. Including _what you did on your holidays_!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mark's voice was puzzled.

Colby looked down at the man, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. Tell me, Miller. What _is _that supposed to mean?"

"The fact that you went back? To Kosovo? _Remember_?" Miller shifted his weight and let out a sudden yelp of pain as he felt the cold, hard nose of an A1 pistol rest gently on the bullet wound in his knee. He looked up into two of the most frightening eyes he'd ever seen. The menace flowed out of Colby and he cocked an eyebrow.

"And?"

"Murder, Granger. Cold blooded murder. That's what you did. You executed seven men. If the army finds out, you'll go to prison for the rest of your _damn life_! And can you _imagine _what'll happen when Don finds out?" He shifted again and strained his head up, his own voice now just a hoarse whisper, filled with urgency. "So here's the deal, Granger. I give you that information. All of it. To do with as you want. In return? I walk."

Granger sat back on his heels, his eyes never leaving Miller's. Miller smiled slowly. "I know where it is. I know where the evidence is, Colby. I know every dirty, sordid little secret about you and _her_, my friend. All the black ops? Operations in countries we had no business even _being _in? Action against your own allies? Against your own _team_?" He jerked his head back as a strong hand clamped around his throat.

"Where?"

"Colby…" Diane's voice was sharp.

"I _said_, _where_?"

"Colby, let him go!"

"_Where_, Miller?"

"_Captain Granger! Stand down, that's an __**order**__, soldier!_" The order was barked out with utter authority. Colby's head snapped around and he stared straight into the barrel of a Browning 9mm. "So help me God, Colby, I _will _shoot you if you do not stand _down_!" Colby relaxed his grip on Miller's throat and the man gasped for air. Colby stood up slowly, still staring straight at Diane. The Browning followed his progress up… Diane lapsed briefly into Albanian so that only she and Colby could understand…"He's right, love. We need him." She raised an arched eyebrow and he gave her the briefest of nods…

**_TBC…_**


	24. Crisis of Conscience

Disclaimer

I'd cut and paste the usual yada yada, but apparently, you lot like my disclaimers sooo…

Time to pull a funny-bunny out of my arse.

Seriously. Do you lot have any idea how difficult it is to make an interesting disclaimer? I mean, there's the planning, the witty one-liners, the whole 'lost in translation' aspect to deal with, what with everyone having no bleedin' idea as to what irony actually _is_, the psychology of disclaimers (God DAMN IT! I think I've just found the title for my criminal psychology thesis! WOOT!)…

Waddya mean, get the (insert expletive here) on with it?

(Sigh) You lot are no fun sometimes…

Anyhoo, as per usual, I do not have any claim to the little plot-bunny goldmine that is Numb3rs. I don't own any of the regular characters, the title, the copyright, nada. I don't make any money out of this, damn it, do you think if I did you lot would be getting this drivel for _free_? I DO, however, own the story and the characters of the deeply dysfunctional Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Micky 'My old man's a dustman' Cox and Danny 'Blow it up again! Blow it up again!' Smith and I'll go Ninja!Kitty on anyone who says otherwise.

Can we get on now please?

Ta.

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Mark Tyler stood stock still. He had no idea what the hell was happening here. All he was sure of was that Miller, still prone on the floor and clutching a shattered kneecap, had said something to really press Granger's buttons. The whispered, conspiratorial conversation had resulted in Granger trying to choke the man one-handed. Armstrong had just about managed to stop the big American from throttling the life out of Miller; something that he would have gladly stood back and watched with relish. But he was way out of his comfort zone here…

"Take this scumbag back to the car, Mark. Make sure he doesn't bleed on the upholstery, huh?" Colby flashed him a humourless smile and holstered his gun. He reached down and hauled the protesting Miller to his feet and threw him towards Mark. "And Mark?"

"Sir?"

"Don't you listen to one single word the lying son of a bitch says, okay? He's gonna try messing with your head, I promise you. I know how this bastard thinks. He starts comin' out with any BS, there's a role of duct tape in the back of the car. Just slap a bit over his piehole, got it?"

"Mind me asking what this is all about, Granger?"

"Yeah. I mind you askin'." Colby turned away and ran his hand through his short hair. Diane frowned – he looked tired and the bruising on the side of his skull from the car accident was still obvious. He'd been running on nothing but coffee and adrenaline for days and she knew how dangerous that could be. She watched as he stared at the dirt. He was thinking – desperately trying to find a way out of an impossible situation. She nodded to Mark.

"Give us a few minutes would you, sweetheart?" The reassuring smile she gave Mark didn't work. He knew that the two agents were deeply embroiled in something that had them both worried…

Diane watched as Tyler led Miller back to the car and made sure they were completely out of earshot before she next spoke. "Col?"

"Huh?" Colby looked up from the patch of ground he had been studying so intensely.

"Find any answers in the dust, love?" Her voice was soft, non-confrontational. This time? It was her talking him down…

"Can't find any damn answers anywhere, babes." He sighed deeply. "Jesus, this is so fucked up, I don't even know where to start!" He swung a frustrated punch into thin air and turned away, pacing like a caged tiger.

Diane put her gun away and sat on a rock, watching the man she cared about more than anyone else in the world tailspin himself into the ground. She knew exactly what he was going through. She'd been there herself… "Focus, Colby. We need to think our next move through very carefully."

Colby suddenly turned and stared at her. "Back there? Would you really have shot me?"

"Yup."

"Seriously?"

"Damn straight."

"Why?"

"Because the red mist had come down, love. Because if you'd've choked the life out of that oik, especially in front of Tyler, do you honestly think the Agency would've covered for you? Not a chance in hell. But mainly? Because I know you're better than that, Granger. That's why. You're _way_ better than that. This isn't you, CJ. This is a really pissed off version of you. And you ain't thinkin' clearly. You're gonna make a monumental cock-up if you don't _focus_." Her words were plain, simple and finally managed to punch through the haze of fury and frustration that had stopped Colby from thinking clearly.

Colby stopped pacing and looked at Diane. She could see the dark circles under his eyes, the drawn look to his skin. He was exhausted and running on empty. He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply again. "Sometimes I wonder."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Am I? Am I really better than someone like Miller? You heard him! The things I've done?"

"The things we've _both _done, babes."

"But this is different." He sat down beside her and his head dropped onto his chest, his fists clenching between his knees. "What he said about Kosovo, he's right. It was murder. And it's something that I've been running from for years. I guess I knew it would catch up with me one day."

"You really need to talk me through this, Col."

"No."

"No arguments. If we're gonna get you out of a hole here…"

Colby suddenly looked up and straight at Diane. "Babes, don't you _get_ it? I've had this hanging over my damn head for six fucking years! I'm sick of it! Sick of lying awake every damn night waiting for a knock on the door. Waiting for them to pull me in for what happened. After the Janus affair, I knew damn well that it was only a matter of time before someone, somewhere, started doing a little digging."

"Tell me. Everything, Col." She wound her fingers into his hand and she felt him respond to the contact. He cupped her face gently with his free hand and smiled sadly, locking his green eyes into hers.

"It's something you don't need to know, baby."

"You keepin' secrets from me, Granger?"

"We've been keeping secrets all our lives."

"Yeah? Well it's time to give this bugger an airing, old son. Look at yourself. You're wallowing in self-pity here and that's _not _the Colby Granger I know!" Diane's voice was sharp. "Now tell me or so help me God, I'll finish off the threat I started earlier!"

For the longest moment, Colby didn't speak. Then…

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_The Albanian/Kosovo border: 2003_

Colby Granger crouched motionless. He could see the border guard post from here. The guards were the usual, East European drones, but the border between Kosovo and Albania was heavily guarded. The entire region was still a hotbed of militia, guerrilla gangs and rogue secret police, all spoiling for a fight and all heavily armed. He had hoped he'd never have to see this hellhole again but after their 'extended visit' six months earlier he knew he'd be back. The Agency had unfinished business in the region, and an agent with a specialist inside knowledge of the place and fluent in the language was an opportunity not to be missed. They'd talked long and hard to him about coming back. Miller had been persuasive; playing on Colby's barely contained rage at what he and Diane had been subjected to. That was the Agency's way. Revenge was as good a motivator as money, if played in the right way.

And Colby had dearly wanted revenge.

Revenge for the weeks of torture. Revenge for what they'd done to Diane. Pure, blind revenge – a chance to inflict some pain on those who'd inflicted so much on him and the woman he loved. Payback was gonna be a bitch…

The guards were lazy, undisciplined and lax in their duties but they were also hostile, heavily armed and goddamn trigger-happy and he had no intention of drawing any attention to his presence. He waited until they had retreated from the freezing night into the guard hut and made a dash for the fence. Picking a spot that was shielded from the road by a thick shrubbery of gorse bushes, he cut through the wire and crawled through into Kosovo. With one last check towards the border post, he kept low and vanished into the night…

Pristina was exactly the same as he'd left it. Dark, wet, cold and with the ever-present threat of violence in the air. The city was a maze of medieval alleyways, twisting passageways and dilapidated buildings. Years of civil war had been unkind to this former jewel of the Eastern European heartland. He made his way through the dark, rain sodden alleyways to a crumbling apartment block and ducked inside. The gloomy stairwell stank of piss and poverty and he studiously avoided touching the grime-covered handrail. Taking the stairs two at a time, he finally reached the third floor and padded silently down a corridor lined with doors, the paint peeling off to show bare, exposed and filthy dirty wood underneath. The single, naked bulb barely penetrated the gloom and he squinted at the corroded brass numbers on each door. Apartment 3f was at the end of the corridor on the left. He took the key Miller had given out of his jacket pocket and touched the tip of it to the rusty lock.

Colby paused, his fingers still holding the key. He scanned the doorway, looking for the marker. It was an old trick, but it still worked. A single human hair was pressed against the doorframe. If it wasn't there, it meant that the apartment had been compromised. If it had, he'd just turn away and get the hell out of there.

The hair was in place.

He pushed the key into the lock and turned, the rusty mechanism of the lock grinding in protest at this forced entry. The door swung open and revealed a dingy room with wallpaper hanging precariously from the corners of each grimy wall. Colby slipped inside the room silently and shut the door behind him, making sure that the lock clicked into place. He was thankful that Miller's team hadn't been stupid enough to put a brand new lock on the doorway – that was like leaving a 'This room has been rented by the CIA' card on the front and they'd made that mistake too many times before.

The room smelt musty and unused. A single bed, a rickety-looking chair, a metal waste paper basket and a table were the only pieces of furniture, but it was all Colby needed. On the table was a large manila envelope. There were no markings on the front. Granger picked up the envelope and opened it, shaking the contents onto the bed. Seven files with photographs clipped to them fell out and a single piece of paper fluttered free, resting on top of the heavier files. Colby picked the piece of paper up and read it.

"Shit."

'Executive Order'. The words were there. 'Eliminate with extreme prejudice'. The order was signed by Miller…

Colby carefully folded up the sheet of paper and pushed it into the top of his sock, feeling the sharp edges digging into the skin of his ankle. His hand went to the first file but paused as he felt his cell-phone vibrate in his pocket. He snapped the phone open.

"Thunderhorse. I'm in."

_"Everything okay?"_

"What, you mean apart from the décor and the smell? Yeah. Peachy."

_"You've got the files?"_

"I've got 'em."

_"You know what to do. The rest of the equipment is under the bed."_

The line went dead. Oh, he knew what to do alright. And for the first time since that first briefing with Miller he started to have serious doubts. The desire for revenge was still there. But his inherent belief in justice was starting to raise a flag of doubt in his mind. He had a direct order. He was a soldier. Soldiers followed orders. Right?

Colby slowly closed the phone and put it back in his pocket. Ignoring the scratchy, foetid blanket, he sat back on the bed and began to read the files.

Every one was a detailed account of bloody murder, torture and men who gave no value to life or dignity. The faces were hard, uncompromising and Colby knew each one of them personally. These were the men who had enjoyed every moment of the torture they had inflicted on his battered body and mind, who had pumped him full of drugs that enhanced each agonising blow, who had forced him to listen to Diane's cries and tormented him that he could do _nothing _to help her. The files told him of a history of savage violence, war crimes committed in the civil war and of their involvement in the nastiest European war in years, the Bosnian conflict. They were war criminals to a man. Torturers, murderers and rapists.

Colby spent the night reading each and every detail over and over, committing it to memory before destroying the files. It wasn't just an exercise in committing facts to memory. He was still wrestling with an internal struggle between revenge and justice. The metal waste paper bin contained nothing but a pile of blackened ashes by sunrise. Colby gathered up the ashes and crushed them into fine powder, making sure not one single piece remained intact.

He had one last thing to do in the apartment. Ignoring the feeling of nausea and the sure knowledge that the droppings of generations of rats lay under the bed, he reached beneath the rusting bedsprings and pulled out a black case. Snapping open the locks, he opened up the lid to reveal a .338 sniper's rifle, supplied, apparently, by courtesy of the British Intelligence Services. The gun was in perfect condition, gleaming dully in the pre-dawn dim light that had started to filter through the ragged curtains. He stared at the gun, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach.

Extreme prejudice.

He knew what that meant.

Assassination…

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"So you were following orders."

"I _killed _seven men in cold blood!"

"Seven murdering bastards, Colby. Seven war criminals. They weren't innocent men."

"That doesn't justify it, love." Colby fell quiet and Diane waited, giving him time. Finally, he looked up and into her eyes. "I can't use the old I was only obeying orders crap. They should've been brought to justice, not shot down like rabid dogs in the street!"

"They _were _rabid dogs! Jesus Colby, d'ya think they were suddenly gonna get religion or something and start saving orphans? C'mon, you _know _what they were!" Diane's voice was filled with emotion. This was as difficult for her to listen to as it was for Colby to recount.

"I crossed a line, babes."

"And you found your way _back, _Colby. That's what matters."

"No. What matters right now is that nobody is going to believe me."

"Well, let's start with getting you to believe it yourself, shall we?" Diane stood up and began to pace. She paused, frowning in concentration, and began to pace again. "That order. Did you burn it?"

"No."

"You still have it?"

"Yes."

"Bloody hell!" Diane stopped in mid-pace and turned sharply, her eyes wide. "Seriously?" She suddenly smiled brightly. "You little _beauty, _Granger! Don't you see what you've got here?"

"What?"

"See? This is why you shouldn't live on nothing but bleedin' coffee and fresh air for more than three days!" She playfully smacked the side of his head. "_Think_, Granger! You've got yourself an ace up your sleeve." She crouched in front of Colby, her hand resting gently on his. She spoke rapidly and urgently. "Listen carefully, love. Miller says he has evidence implementing you in this entire operation, right?" Colby nodded. "But I'm willing to bet a month's pay and every damn medal I have that he sure as hell doesn't know that you still have that exec order signed by him, does he?"

"No. That doesn't change anything though, babes."

"It changes everything, you daft sod!" She sighed. "Look. I know that this isn't going to be easy, but you want to do the right thing, yeah? You want this to be over?"

"More than anything right now."

"It can be."

"How?"

"Yer forgetting this, hun." She pulled out the flash drive Danny Smith had risked his life for in Afghanistan and held it up. "With this and that exec order, we've got Miller in a snare so tight his balls have probably retreated in protest. Whatever he pulls out now is _worthless_, Col. We're playing espionage Poker here, babes, and guess what? Miller's _bluffing_." She sat back on her heels, her hand still on Colby's. "It's not going to be easy, sweetheart. There's gonna be the _mother _of all enquiries. Your arse is gonna get hauled over the coals, mine too, probably. But you're not the bad guy in all this, Col. Miller is. And that order? The Agency has a record detailing all exec orders. If his is an unofficial one, it's goodnight Vienna and Miller spends the rest of his miserable life in supermax. We may not get off scott free, babes, but at least we won't have to keep on running for the rest of our lives. Isn't that worth the price? Isn't that the _right _thing to do?" Her voice was soft, gentle and persuasive.

Colby finally looked up, his green eyes ringed with tears. He tried to speak but the words wouldn't come out. Diane wrapped her arms around him protectively and just held him, the two of them oblivious to everything else in that moment except each other…

**_TBC…_**


	25. The First Casualty of War

Disclaimer

Here we go again…And for the last time this 'season'…(Don't panic – after a short hiatus there WILL be a 'season three, that's a promise…)

Due to budgetary cuts, there are no trumpets, dancing girls or pyrotechnics available for this instalment. Ya'd think they'd make an effort for the finale, wouldn't ya? In fact, budgetary cuts have also meant that the letters p, w, x and v have been deemed as expensive luxuries and the use of these particular letters is now rationed. Which is gonna make words like peripatetic, xylophone and voluptuous bloody expensive. This may also impact on the pyrotechnics budget so there's gonna be a lot less blowing shit up. Don't blame me, blame the execs…

Aaaaaaaaaaaanyhoo, I have nothing to do with Numb3rs. I don't own anything to do with the show, I have no creative licence (at all), I don't date anyone in the crew and I have no say over their hairstyles (the cause of much debate recently on the boards). I DO, however, own the rights to Diane Armstrong/Alex Carter, Micky 'I'm so bleedin' Cockney it's actually _painful_' Cox and Danny 'Gawd love a duck, Guv!' Smith. And I'll smack down with anyone who says otherwise.

Right then. Off to talk to a black market supplier in letters to see if I can't dodge these budget cuts and give you all the finale you deserve…

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Colby reached the SUV and paused, his hand on the door. He turned and looked at Diane one last time…

"You know this could be the end of the line for us, baby." He ran a hand through his short hair and sighed. A small smile spread across his lips and he gently cupped her cheek with his hand, stroking her skin softly. "Remember that day on the beach?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like you said." He shrugged and kissed her gently. "It's been fun, Dee."

Diane laid a hand on his arm, her voice as soft as her touch. "It ain't over yet, sweetheart. I didn't hear any fat lady sing, did you?" She returned his kiss and a perfectly arched eyebrow raised in mocking amusement. Colby smiled back at her.

"You just never give up, do you?"

"Nope. Nor do you. And if we did, we'd be dead by now, wouldn't we?" Her fingers flexed on his arm, reassuring him. "Your lead on this, CJ." She released her grip and moved around to the front passenger door. Colby took one last look around the clearing and sighed again, muttering quietly to himself. "If there's any fat ladies out there, you start singing and so help me God I'll punch you in the damn throat, _clear_?" He wrenched the driver door open and climbed into the SUV.

Miller watched both agents get into the car with a feral look in his eyes. His knee hurt like a bastard, but Colby's shot hadn't done any major damage. He'd angled it so that only the fleshy part at the side of his kneecap took the impact. Miller knew that Colby's shot wasn't an accident. Granger was a superb marksman. If he had wanted to, that kneecap could be in pieces by now…"So. Agent Granger. Come to a decision?"

Colby turned slowly, one powerful arm resting casually across the head restraint. He smiled a slow, lazy and utterly chilling smile at the wounded man. "Oh you bet I have, my friend. Let's see what you got."

"A wise decision, Granger." Miller smirked. The man wasn't stupid, but then, he'd never underestimated Granger's abilities. That's why he'd created the entire file to begin with. His survival instincts had warned him that Granger would be a risk at some stage. Right now, that risk had suddenly become very real. There was no real flashdrive detailing the plot. It had all been a wild goose chase to give him and his cronies the time to clear out every piece of incriminating evidence against them. The whole, messy affair. The betrayal in Kosovo. Aranimov and his fake list. Everything had been interwoven over years of subterfuge and counter move. It was difficult sometimes to know exactly what the truth really was. But then, as the saying went – the first casualty of war is the truth…

"So. Where to, Miller?"

"Head for the Valley. I'll give you directions."

"Nope, you'll give me an address right now, buddy."

"Sir? D'ya mind me asking what the hell's going on here?" Mark Tyler was having a real problem knowing who was the good guy and who was the bad guy here. The Colby Granger he'd just seen shoot a man in the knee with nothing more than a bright smile and zero remorse was not the man he had heard so much about.

"Mark, I need you to trust me, bud."

"Yeah, _kinda _just about all out on trust here, Granger." Mark frowned, his eyes locking with Colby's. His voice was sharp with sarcasm.

"Okay, so let me ask you this. What's your gut telling you right now?"

"That I'm in way over my head?"

"Wanna bail?"

"Would it be in my interest to?"

"Probably not, no. Sorry, my friend, but you're a part of this, whether you want to be or not. We're at end-game now. After tonight?" Colby shrugged. "Well, you probably won't have to worry about me, Diane _or _this scumbag any more. You can go back to Langley with your conscience clear, hell, man, you'll probably get a damn _commendation_ outta this ball of crap!" Colby paused, looking directly at Mark. "I'm asking you one last time to trust me, Mark. Can you do that?"

Mark looked at Granger. There was no hint of an untruth in those clear, green eyes. Mark listened to his gut. The man speaking to him was one that _had _been given a commendation. Several, in fact… "Okay. Deal."

"Thank you." The statement was quiet, simple and full of meaning. Colby turned and started the engine. "Address, Miller. Unless you want that knee to start hurtin' _real _bad." He looked at Miller through the driver's mirror. The mirror showed only his eyes. Miller could see no trace of compassion in those hard, pale green eyes…

"Four twenty seven, West Drive."

Granger glanced at Diane. A barely perceivable nod passed between them and the SUV vanished into the night…

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The SUV pulled up outside the house and Colby killed the engine. "Mark, you and Diane wait here. Miller? Out." He threw open the door and jumped out of the truck, wrenching the rear passenger door open and dragging the injured man out by the scruff of the neck. Miller protested loudly but Colby merely shoved him towards the house. "Lead on, MacDuff." He pushed Miller towards the house and started to follow him.

"Colby?" Diane had exited the vehicle and leaned across the hood, her hands resting on the metal in front of her. In her right hand was a cell-phone. "I think you better take this." She held the phone up and Colby scowled.

"God damn it, Dee…"

"You _really _need to take this call, Col."

"Shit. Okay, hang on." Colby turned around and called out to Miller, who stood with his key poised in the lock of the door. Miller turned and scowled at Colby. "Hold it right there, Miller." Colby trotted back to the car and spoke to Mark through the rear passenger window. "Mark? Cover the bastard. If he moves, shoot him."

"On it." Mark jumped out of the car and raised his gun, pointing it straight at Miller. The man froze, glaring angrily at his former subordinate.

Colby grabbed the phone out of Diane's hand and barked into the mouthpiece. "_What_?"

"_Agent Granger?"_

"Yes?"

_"Duck…"_

Colby pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned briefly at it. Then sudden realisation kicked in and he threw the phone on the ground…"Oh, _SHIT!_" He sprinted around the front of the SUV and started to run towards Miller. Miller turned back to the lock and turned the key…

The explosion hurled Colby backward, punching into his chest like a wrecking ball. Diane immediately hit the ground, sheltered behind the front of the SUV. Flames erupted from the house and engulfed the screaming form of Miller utterly, his cries of agony silenced within a split second as the sheer ferocity of the fireball seared his lungs into ash. He was dead before he hit the ground…

Colby lay still on the grass, the house behind him now a raging inferno. "COLBY!" Diane sprinted towards the prone figure, panic twisting her guts into knots. He'd been close when the house had gone up. Too damn close… She skidded to a halt beside the big man, ignoring the pounding feet behind her of Mark Tyler. Dropping to her knees, she checked for a pulse. It was there and it was strong. Slowly, Granger opened his eyes and groaned loudly.

"Jesus…" Colby felt Diane's hands checking his body for wounds. He could sense another presence on the other side…Tyler. He tried to move but a strong hand pressed against his shoulder, forcing him to lay still.

"Easy, sir. Just lay still." Mark's voice was cracking with the panic. He'd been in enough firefights in his time but this? This was an unknown enemy. Unseen.

"I'm okay." Colby shrugged off the hand and Colby lay still, taking a moment to try and clear the ringing in his ears. He grunted loudly and angrily, throwing an arm over his eyes and snarling in frustration. "God DAMN SON OF A _BITCH! WOULD EVERYBODY, __**PLEASE**__, STOP TRYING TO __**FUCKING KILL ME**__!_"

"If he's swearing, he's okay." Diane flashed Mark a fleeting grin. "It's standard procedure with Special Forces, mate. If you can swear, you're good. This one's as bad as Micky when he gets going. Upsy daisy, sweetheart!" Mark returned the grin and helped Diane sit a still cursing Colby upright. He knew the gallows humour of Special Forces soldiers well…

Slowly, Colby struggled to his feet, letting both Diane and Mark help him stand. The three agents stood staring at the house, oblivious to the scream of sirens and the crowds of early-morning bystanders who had been shaken out of their cocooned sleep by the explosion. Colby frowned. "Whatever Miller had, it's in there." He nodded towards the inferno.

"And he's taken it to the grave with him, babes." Diane slipped an arm around Colby's waist, reassuring and supporting the big man.

"Fitting end for a traitor." Mark's voice was quiet. Colby glanced at him, the frown still knotting his brow.

"You sound almost okay with that, Mark."

"Bud, I knew the man was dirty. He tried to kill you, me, Christ, Colby, he tried to kill everyone in his path to cover his own fucking ass!" He turned to Colby, his intense blue eyes serious. "Col, when you asked me to trust you this morning, I'll be honest. At that point I didn't know _who _to trust. Whatever went on between you and Miller in that clearing…" He shrugged. "Well, let's just say that it _stays _in that clearing as far as I'm concerned, okay?" He stretched out an open hand and Colby took it, the grip firm and purposeful. Mark grinned at Colby and Diane. "Man, seriously. You two in town at the same time? Ever have a day when shit _doesn't _blow up around ya? Oh, yeah and don't think I've forgotten about that fucking _fork, _Granger. Payback's gonna be a bitch!" Mark rubbed at his arm, the three puncture marks of the hurled fork still sore even after several days. He suddenly grinned broadly at Colby.

Colby laughed. It was the first time Diane had heard him genuinely laugh in days. She smiled quietly and tightened her grip around his waist, feeling his own arm slip around hers. He pulled her close to him and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Guess we just know how to have fun, huh?" He grinned at her and took a deep breath. "Cavalry's here, babes."

"Yeah. This is gonna take some serious 'splaining, Lucy."

Mark chuckled. "Don't worry, Dee. The CIA'll handle this one." He nodded quickly and turned to intercept the LAPD officers who were sprinting towards them. Pulling out his ID, he held it up for the officers to see and held out an arm stopping them from approaching Colby and Diane any closer…

"Looks like Langley's on our side, babes." Diane glanced over her shoulder, watching as Mark barked out orders to the uniforms and stepping to one side to allow the fire department to run the hoses towards the blazing house.

"Guess so. Mark's a good guy. Ya think they knew all along?"

"Probably. But that still doesn't explain who did this. Or who they were targeting."

Colby shrugged. "My guess is probably…" He heard his cell-phone ring, cutting him off in mid sentence. Searching the tarmac, he saw where he had thrown the phone moments earlier and picked it up, glancing at the caller ID. Scowling, he flipped open the handset.

"_You okay, Col?"_

"Who is this?"

"_Someone who's glad to hear that you weren't that much closer to Miller's house, my friend."_

Colby glanced around, scanning the street. Whoever was calling him could see every move they made…

"_Operation Amber Room is over. We'll be in touch. Don't concern yourself with any…outstanding overseas problems, okay? And Colby?" _The voice paused and then chuckled quietly._ "Good work, buddy." _The voice went dead…

Colby stared at the phone and then, without another word, hurled the damaged phone into the fire, letting the flames consume the last reminder of the nightmarish scenario he had just lived through, trying to make a symbolic break with the nameless voice that seemed to know everything. He looked at Diane, a small smile playing around the corner of his lips. "It's over."

"You sure?"

"Yes. I'm _sure_." He pulled her closer, just wanting to hold her for a moment. Colby felt her embrace tighten in response. He kissed her softly on the forehead and gazed deep into her emerald green eyes. A warm smile played around his lips. "Wanna go get some breakfast?"

Diane laughed and nodded. "Sounds good, old son. I haven't eaten in days!" She grinned broadly. "I'm thinking tequila."

"It's six in the damn _morning_, woman!"

"Your point?"

"You're a nutjob, you know that?"

"Bugger. Alright then. Eggs and bacon it is."

Colby grinned broadly. "That's more like it!"

3333333

Don flicked to the last page of the report Colby had handed to him and glanced up. The office was quiet. Everyone was still trying to pick up the pieces of the Deputy Director's treachery. Only Colby, Don and David knew the truth. Internal Affairs had descended on the Bullpen and pulled every case file for the past six months, desperately hunting down anyone and everyone who may have been complicit in the plot. There hadn't been much to go on. The Deputy Director had at least had the decency to keep his treason to himself…

Everyone had been interviewed. At length. Colby had disappeared for two days, presumably back to The Farm to file a report with his paymasters at Langley. Don still had trouble rectifying that situation, but he had come to terms that Colby Granger wasn't just a humble G-Man. He knew that if Colby decided to stay in Langley, there was nothing he could do to get him back to Los Angeles and the team he'd become a part of.

But he _had_ come back.

And that had counted for a lot, in Don's eyes…

"So we still don't know who was behind Miller's murder?"

"Nope."

"If you did know, would you tell me?"

"Nope. Not without clearance from Langley." Colby shrugged. "Sorry Don, that's just the way it is. Amber Room was a fuck up from start to finish. Someone at Langley knew that. They knew Miller was dirty so I guess they just decided to…well, _tidy up_."

"And what about you?" Don closed the file and put it on the desk. He sat back and studied Granger. The man looked exhausted – mentally and physically. The week had been hard on him, and he knew that, even though Miller was dead and the Brits had left for England with Mountbatten in tow, the repercussions would still rumble on for some time yet. And Colby was still potentially in the firing line. He had a feeling that there was still something unanswered, something bigger behind it all - something that Colby seemed to feel guilty about… "There's a lot of unanswered questions here, Col."

"Such as?"

"Such as who are you gonna be working for on Monday morning, buddy?"

Colby's eyes widened. "You _serious_?"

"Yes, Col, I'm serious." Don sat forward, staring intently at Granger. "The team's been cleared by internal. Which means we're all sanctioned to carry on doing what we do, Col. I wanna know if I'm gonna be a man down next week, or if you're gonna be here. The truth, Col. _The truth_."

"You got the full briefing from Langley, Don. You know all about Spiderweb." Colby matched Don's stare. "Question is, do you _want _me here?"

Don smiled slowly and shrugged. "Hey, listen. I've got a math professor on the team, why shouldn't I have a damn spook?"

Colby mirrored Don's smile. "Then I'll be in on Monday. You mind if I take the weekend off, Don? I haven't slept for days."

Don laughed quietly. "Yeah, sure. I think you've earned it. Diane still in town?"

Colby didn't answer straight away. Don saw the sadness in the man's eyes and Colby shook his head. "No. She's gone back to England."

"What's the deal with you two, Col? Seriously?"

"It's…complicated."

"Yeah, you ain't wrong there, buddy!" Don stood up and stood in front of his junior agent, his eyes boring into Grangers. "OK, so if you're gonna be at your desk on Monday, let's get a few things straight. Here's how things are gonna go from now on in, Col. You work for me, regardless of _who _signs your pay check at the end of every damn month! You're my go to guy for anything covert, fucked up, spy shit crap that comes across our desks. You're completely open with me on _everything_, Colby. You don't screw me about, you don't _lie _to me, you don't hide _anything _from me. If I think you're up to your old tricks, I'll kick your ass outta this department so fast your head'll spin. Anything that comes from your masters in Washington? I wanna know about it. You do your job _and_, Col," He laid a hand on the big man's shoulder… "You get some help, buddy." There was a gentleness to his voice in his last words that belied the concern he had for the younger man's state of mind. Too many times over the past weeks he had seen flashes of a Colby he didn't like; a Colby that was torn apart by black thoughts, nightmares of a darker time and an almost cavalier attitude towards his own life. Don didn't want to see his friend go to an early grave…

Colby glanced up sharply. "What?"

"You get some help. I ain't gonna watch you tailspin yourself into the ground through PTSD, Granger." He held up a hand. "A-a-a, no arguments." He patted the man gently on the shoulder. "Col, it helped me and I was nowhere _near _as fucked up as you are!"

Colby raised an eyebrow and a small smile flickered across his face. "Yeah. Um, _thanks _for that vote of confidence, Don!"

Don handed Colby a business card. "He's damn good, buddy. He's sorted my head out _and _he's got the clearance." Don grinned. "I've okayed it with Langley and they agree with me."

"Don, I…"

"No arguments, Col." Don patted him on the shoulder again and smiled gently. "See you Monday." Don left Colby sitting alone, staring at the business card…

3333333

"Agent Granger. I've been expecting you. Come on in."

"Doctor Bradford?" Colby stood nervously at the door of the psychiatrist's office. "I'm, um, yeah, look I'm sorry to bother you and all, but…"

"It's not a bother, Colby. Like I said. I've been expecting you." Bradford gave the nervous man a small, reassuring smile and beckoned into the office. "Coffee?"

"Huh?"

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Err, no, no thanks. I'm good." Colby walked into the office, his eyes taking in every detail of the room as he made his way to the chair furthest from Bradford's desk. Bradford watched the man, studying his body language. He walked on the balls of his feet, as if he was ready to take off running at a split second's notice. The muscles along his jaw were tense, as were those in his shoulders and hands. The clear green eyes darted around the room, expertly scanning every detail.

Bradford smiled quietly to himself. Colby Granger was going to be a challenge. Right now, he looked like a frightened colt. That was Bradford's 'in'. Instantly, he knew how to handle the man. He'd read Granger's file. The man was a walking textbook of PTSD symptoms. But he also knew that underneath the troubled exterior of a man tormented by past mistakes, horrific nightmares and the hell of battle was a complex, decent man whose biggest critic was himself. He knew how deeply the death of his father had affected Colby at age 15. The man had lost his hero in tragic circumstances that had never truly been satisfactorily explained. Perhaps this was the cause of the man's underlying lack of confidence in himself. Perhaps that was also why he always tried twice as hard as those around him. To continually push himself beyond what was actually expected of him.

The psychologists had done a fairly good job on reconstructing Granger after his return from Kosovo. But they hadn't finished the job properly, and the past few days had brought some once hidden demons crashing back into Colby's world. This initial session would be an exercise in 'talking him off the ledge'. From there? Well, then they could start to build back the shattered pieces of Colby's life into a complete whole, one bit at a time…

"Nervous?" The doctor motioned to a chair closer to his own at the window. For a second, Granger looked confused – he had been trying to put some distance between himself and the doctor but this shrink was as good as Don said he was – he'd picked up on it straight away.

"Honestly? Yes."

"Why?" Bradford turned away from the coffee machine and sat down in the chair next to Granger. He noticed how the man sat on the very edge of the seat, again, looking as if he was ready to bolt at the slightest excuse. His hands were clasped together, the fingers wound tightly and almost white with tension…"I mean, you've faced far scarier opponents than me, Agent Granger."

"Yeah. But none of them were trying to climb inside my head. With respect, sir."

"Why did you call me sir, Colby?"

"Um…I, um, I don't know, sir. Um, _habit_?" Colby looked panicked. "Have we started here?"

"Let me tell you why you called me sir, shall I?" Bradford settled back into the chair and smiled again, that reassuring smile at the nervous man. "And yes, Colby, we started the moment you walked into my office. You called me sir because that way you can put a mental barrier up between you and me. You're establishing a boundary that acts as a buffer should I start asking a question that you find a little too…close to home?" Bradford raised an eyebrow. "It's easier that way, isn't it? Establishing a chain of command? Being able to answer an awkward question with an I'm sorry sir, I can't disclose that information?"

"No, that's not it. I…"

"And by doing that, it means that you can depersonalise me into just another commanding officer figurehead that you can palm off with the bare minimum, right?" Colby leapt like a scolded cat out of the chair and paced angrily. He suddenly turned and glared at Bradford. The man's words had hit home hard…

"No! Look. I'm here because Don told me to be! Okay? Whether I call you sir or not isn't even relevant to anything!"

"You sure about that?" Bradford raised an eyebrow, waiting for Colby's response. He'd pushed the man's buttons deliberately to see how brittle he was. He'd got his answer. The frightened colt had quickly been replaced by a defensive, snarling tiger. Colby stopped pacing and stood absolutely still for a second. Bradford saw his body language suddenly switch; from passive aggressive to submissive. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed and his head dropped slightly. All clear signs that Bradford had scored a direct hit. 'Like Don warned me,' thought Colby. 'He's good…'

Colby sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to blow up like that. Kinda short on sleep and ideas here." He sat back down into the chair and chewed nervously at his bottom lip. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to go through this hell again. He just wanted to forget about the nightmares, the fear, the flashbacks – all of it. Just go back to work. Get on with life. _Bury this crap_. Move on…

But Bradford wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily…

"How about we start with something simple?"

"Like?" Colby's voice was leaden and resigned.

"Like tell me about Diane."

Colby looked up, surprised. He let out a short, sharp laugh. "You call that _simple_?"

"What would you call it?" Bradford's voice was calm, measured and even. He gave the man time to answer….

"I thought you wanted to climb inside my brain, not hers."

"But the two of you are practically joined at the hip, according to this. I'm guessing find out about the woman behind the man, and you'll find out about the man." Bradford held up a buff file with the unmistakable insignia of the CIA on the front. He smiled again. "I know all about it, Colby. Operation Amber Room, Kosovo, everything. Why don't you take your time and start at the beginning?"

"Crap…" Panic started to rise again in Colby. There was no way out of this now…

3333333

_Hereford, England…_

The service had been a quiet affair – a handful of friends, very few family members. The majority of the congregation and the guard of honour were made up of the Regiment. Diane Armstrong stood alone at Gary Park's graveside, lost in thought. She heard the soft footsteps behind her but didn't bother turning. Whoever it was would make their presence known if they wanted to. Right now? She was mourning the loss of her friend and oppo. She didn't give a crap about protocol any more. Her pristine uniform offered her a measure of security, but she knew that protective and comforting blanket wouldn't last much longer.

"He was a good man, Captain."

Diane turned and faced her commanding officer. "Yes sir."

Colonel Bridgewater stood next to her at the graveside, looking down at the dirt-strewn coffin. He raised an eyebrow, mirth making the corners of his mouth twitch. "Exactly who thought it appropriate to throw in a hip flask, Captain?"

"That was Cox, sir. He thought Gary might like one last drink." Diane's voice was neutral, flat. But Bridgewater could hear the emotion behind it. He'd worked with the woman long enough to know when she was keeping her feelings bottled up…

"Remind me to have a little talk with Cox about that kind of thing."

"Sir."

Bridgewater clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. "So. You'll be leaving us soon."

"Yes sir."

"Any plans?"

"Six have already said they're interested in me working in their Moscow station. The Americans have put in a bid as well."

"Somehow, I can't see you in Moscow, Dee." Bridgewater chuckled. "You never did like the cold, did you?"

"I prefer warmer climes, sir."

"Yes. I remember a certain young I-Corps officer bitching like a little girl about being cold and wet in the middle of Brecon Beacons eight years ago."

"Marcus had just thrown me into a damn foxhole arse deep in freezing water and shit, sir!" Diane looked momentarily mortified at her use of coarse language in front of her commanding officer. "I'm sorry sir, that was unacceptable. My apologies."

"I shouldn't concern yourself too much, Captain. I've been arse deep in mud and shit for the vast majority of my career. Both literally _and _metaphorically speaking. But he did make a point though, didn't he?" Bridgewater laughed. "I also seem to remember Marcus having a particularly bad day after that. I also believe it took him a week to get his hearing back properly after _someone _threw a flash-bang into the foxhole he was hiding in!"

"Let no bad deed go left unpunished, sir."

Bridgewater chuckled. "Indeed. So. You'll be taking the Yank's offer then?"

Diane shook her head. "I don't know, sir. I mean, I've served my queen and country for thirteen years. I know I have the whole duel nationality thing because of my mum and that we're all on the same side and that, but…" She paused, trying to find the right words. "The English half of me feels like I'm abandoning my country by working for the Americans full-time."

"You could always sign on for another few years with us, you know. We would certainly be more than happy to keep you and that vast experience of yours for our own benefit."

"And spend every last bloody minute of it sat behind a desk at the London barracks at Six's beck and call? Bailing their sorry arses out every time some pratt leaves a bag unattended on the Circle Line? Does that honestly sound like my style, sir?_ Really_?"

The Colonel laughed. "No. It doesn't. You'd rather be in the thick of things, wouldn't you?"

"Dad always said I was a tomboy. Guess that's what happens when you have two older brothers and a father who was a Lieutenant in the Regiment, sir."

"Your father was a remarkable man, Diane. So were Robin and Douglas. You've honoured their name with your service to your country, Dee."

"That's why I'm not sure about the American offer, sir. It almost feels like…I dunno. I'm letting them down somehow." Diane looked at the Colonel, her green eyes searching for answers. Colonel Bridgewater had known the woman well for over eight years. And in that moment, standing by Gary Park's graveside, he saw something in her eyes he'd never seen before. He saw uncertainty…

The Colonel laid a hand on Diane's shoulder. He could feel the tension in her muscles underneath the heavy material of her dress uniform. "It's a different world out there now, Dee. Your father understood that, so did your brothers. And so do you. Terrorists don't believe in international borders. It's a universal fight, Captain, them and us. Granted, that nasty affair over releasing the Lockerbie bomber probably hasn't helped our so-called special relationship with the Yanks. But here's a thought." The hand on Diane's shoulder gripped just the tiniest bit more firmly. "Perhaps you can do something to rectify that?"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Diane, you're an SAS intelligence officer. Probably one of the best we've had in years." The Colonel stopped briefly and frowned. "Actually? No, not probably, _definitely_. And apart from that uncanny sixth bloody sense of yours, you work best when you're thinking on your feet. You adapt. Regardless of more…_practised _methods of operation. Now personally, I wholeheartedly approve of your methods, but then again, I suppose I'm slightly biased, seeing as I trained you. But do you honestly think that the jobs for the boys brigade at Six would appreciate your, shall we say, rather _unique_ interpretation of protocol and your somewhat improvised _methods_? Or do you think you could do more good with a more liberal approach, such as that adopted by our American cousins? God help me, Diane, one of your greatest strengths is that you think like a damn terrorist. Thank goodness you're on our bloody side, regardless of who's signing your pay cheque at the end of every damn month!"

"I see your point."

"Good. I think Gary would've given you the same advice, Dee." Bridgewater smiled gently at Diane. "Besides. I believe that, not only are you half-colonial, but you also have property over there?"

Diane smiled at the 'half-colonial' dig. She knew perfectly well that the Colonel had spent two years training those very same 'Colonials' he so gently mocked. Despite his gentle teasing, she knew he had a lot of respect for the Americans. "My mother's beach house at Manhattan Beach. She bought it back in the Seventies and left it to me in her will when she died." Diane paused, her voice trailing off as she spoke for the first time about her mother to the Colonel. "She said it was so I would always have somewhere I could call home." Diane's head dropped and she stared into the grave, recalling distant memories of the one person in her life that wasn't touched by the army…

"England isn't home any more to you, then?" Bridgewater asked the question quietly, gently. The quality that made Colonel Bridgewater such an outstanding commanding officer is that he knew when to listen to his soldiers. He'd always had a soft spot for Diane. She reminded him so much of her father. They had served together over 10 years before Diane joined the Regiment on attachment from I-Corps. Diane was the spitting image of her father. She had his emerald green eyes and steely determination. She also had that edge that made her stand out from the others. It was a dangerous edge that needed a firm control over. He had meant what he said about the woman being able to think like a terrorist. And while that made her a fearsome intelligence agent, it also meant that if Diane wanted to, she could be a massive threat. But the overriding sense of duty, loyalty and honour that her father had instilled in her controlled that ferocity. It gave it focus, direction and intensity. All qualities the Americans appreciated. She'd do well, working for them. And at the end of the day, that's what it was all about. It was about presenting a common front against a dangerous enemy…

"All I've got left here are graves. Everyone I've ever loved is in one. Apart from one person." Diane turned and looked directly at her commanding officer, the uncertainty in her eyes suddenly replaced by a look of steely determination, so characteristic of the Armstrong family... "Not exactly the most compelling of reasons to stay. Sir."

"And that one person who's still alive just happens to be in the United States, I presume."

Diane didn't answer.

"Then just make sure you send me the occasional postcard from the Sunshine State, would you, Captain?" Bridgewater smiled warmly. "I believe Cox is fleeing England's green and pleasant land too."

"Yep. The Yanks want him as well. The man's a bloody idiot and he drives everyone nuts, but he's the best damn tech there is. He basically stuck the finger up at Six. He says its because the Yanks pay better. At least I'll have some company on the flight over."

"I fear for both the stewardess's safety _and _sanity. And Smith?"

"He is going to Six."

"So the old team's scattering then."

"God bless the digital age, sir. We'll all still be in contact with each other."

"And what about Granger?"

For a moment, Diane didn't answer. When she finally did, her voice was barely a whisper. "It's…complicated."

333333

_CIA headquarters, Langley…_

The corridors echoed to his footsteps. Mark Tyler had taken the next plane back to Washington. He didn't want to hang around for the FBI's inquisition…

Mark finally reached the door he was looking for and knocked softly. He was called in by a strong, powerful voice on the other side of the door and, pushing the door open, he caught his first glimpse of his new boss. The muscular man sitting at the desk looked up and smiled. "Tyler. Welcome back. You have the report?"

"All here, sir." Mark held out a thick file. "Operation Amber Room. Start to finish."

"The final chapter." The man reached out a hand and took the file. "Are our friends at the FBI all okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent."

"Sir? May I speak freely?"

"It's in the Constitution, son. Have at it."

"Who the hell blew up Miller's house?"

"Need to know, Agent Tyler."

"I really need to know." Mark's voice wavered just for a second but he held his ground.

"No. You really don't."

"Sir…"

"Listen, Mark. Amber Room has been a considerable embarrassment to us _and _the Brits. Right now, we don't need any more awkward questions. I think everyone wants to put this behind us and _move on?"_"

"Who blew up the house, sir?"

The man looked up, surprised. "You've been hanging around with Granger too much, Mark. That's just the sort of bloody-minded, tenacious approach he'd take."

"He's a good teacher, sir."

The man chuckled. "He _is_ good, isn't he?" He chuckled again. "It was an…executive order. There were certain…_aspects_ of this case that really don't need to see the light of day."

"Any of it involve Agent Granger, sir?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"But…"

"Any more than that, Mark, you _really _don't need to know. Just rest assured that Agent Granger is still one of the good guys. He's staying in LA because we think he can do the most good there. The FBI don't want to let him go and as part of Operation Spiderweb, it's best that one of our finest intelligence officers covers one of the most important target areas on the terrorist's to do list, don't you agree?"

"Yes, sir, but…"

"And that someone he can _trust _is working the same patch?" The man raised an eyebrow and looked directly at Mark.

"That's a given sir, but I still…"

"That'll be all, Agent Tyler. Have a good flight back to LA. Give my regards to Louise."

Mark stood awkwardly for a moment, wanting to press the matter. Wanting to ask if this was the CIA he'd signed up for. The man glanced up and raised an eyebrow. "Was that all, Agent

Tyler?"

The question didn't demand a reply. The conversation was at an end. This _was _the CIA Mark had signed up to. He sighed and nodded. "Thank you, sir."

The man watched Tyler leave the room and waited until he had closed the door behind him. Reaching into a drawer, the man pulled out two flashdrives and a crumpled piece of paper that looked like it had been kept in a sock. He unfolded the tattered piece of paper and read it one last time. It was an 'unofficial executive order' dated September 2003. The man flipped open a zippo lighter and the scratch of the wheel sounded harsh in the confines of the room. A flame leapt up and he carefully applied it to the corner of the paper. Watching it curl and blacken, he dropped it into an ashtray and watched the flame consume it utterly…

The two flashdrives were ground into pieces under the heel of his expensive shoes. He gathered up the pieces and carefully checked that they had been destroyed utterly. Dropping the pieces into the trash bin, he turned his attention to the file. He stood up, reading the first page of the report and strolled over to the shredder. One by one, selected pages of the report were pushed into the shredder and turned into unreadable confetti, never to see the light of day again…

333333

"Hellooo!" Don slammed the door behind him and threw his jacket across the back of a chair. Wandering over to the table, he picked up the post and started sorting through it, studying every envelope carefully. He knew there wouldn't be any for him. He hadn't lived here for years. But every time he came 'home', instinct took over and he followed a subconscious urge to carry out the same ritual. Don glanced up from the letters and smiled as his father walked towards him from the kitchen. Behind him, the door creaked as it swung, old hinges in dire need of some oil.

"Charlie's in the garage. Working on a new aspect of his cognitive emergence theory. He muttered something about it being to do with how things go on underneath the surface that are right in front of our eyes but we're too blind to see." Alan raised an eyebrow and crossed over to his favourite armchair. Collapsing into it with a grunt, he picked up a newspaper and spread it out across his knees, searching the TV listings.

"Charlie tell you what happened?"

"Charlie didn't need to. What, you think I couldn't see with my own eyes, Donny? When you were laying in that hospital bed? _Again_?" He folded the newspaper closed with a rustle and discarded it on the table. Peering over the top of his black-rimmed glasses, he studied his eldest son. "Things okay with Colby?"

"What? Yeah, yeah they're good."

"You sure?"

Don smiled warmly. "Yeah, dad, I'm sure."

"Because I wouldn't want to see you make the same mistake you did last time."

"Waddya mean?"

"About Colby."

"Dad, that was different. He's been absolutely straight with me. I _trust _him."

"It's been tough on him."

"Yeah, well, Dad? It's been tough on all of us." Don rubbed his eyes and frowned. Alan picked up the signal. Don didn't want to talk about it. He'd collided with Colby's world for a third time. Alan knew how much Don hated the whole 'covert operation' aspect of intelligence work. But he also knew that, however repellent to him, that aspect of the job was necessary if they were going to stop another 9/11, a drive-by shooting or the next big drug shipment to devastate the streets of LA. The FBI _needed _people like Colby, whether it liked it or not. Don had always hated the inter-agency rivalry and here he was, guilty of the same sentiments. He'd resented Colby's involvement with that dark and rather sordid world because the Colby he knew _wasn't _that person. The Colby _he _knew was a decent, honest man. Not some covert agent. The two halves of the same man clashed in Don's mind. He was having real difficulty getting his head around the younger man's Jekyll and Hyde character.

"So you're okay with him being a spy?"

Don thought long and hard about his answer. Finally, he looked up at his father and smiled. "Maybe not. But ya know? It doesn't matter. Because I don't care about that. I don't care about the fact that he's a Company man and not a Fed. Because no matter what else, he's still Colby Granger." Don grinned. "And that's good enough for me."

Alan stared hard at his son for a moment and then suddenly smiled. He relaxed back into his chair and picked up the paper. "Then that's good enough for all of us." He snapped out the newspaper with a loud crackle and scanned the print. "Hockey, football or baseball?"

"You need to ask?"

"Hockey."

Alan nodded and threw the paper to one side. Picking up the remote, he flicked the distraction of the television on and settled back to watch the game. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his son. Don looked thoughtful, lost in his own world. He stared, unseeing, at the television picture, the clash of the hockey players mere white noise in the background.

Alan smiled to himself.

It _was_ okay.

At last.

**The End.**

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_This story is dedicated to the memory of the men and women who have given their lives in the service of their country. We shall remember them…_

_Kes_


End file.
